


Game Theory

by SweetGanymead



Series: More Gullible Than Innocence [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad Puns, Drinking, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Oral Sex, adorkable adoribull, menage trois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-15 19:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetGanymead/pseuds/SweetGanymead
Summary: Bull and Dorian attempt to navigate pit falls in their relationship.





	1. Sequential Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like playing chess if the object of the game were to make the other player win.

Lately, they had been playing some version of a romantic coordination game, locating and extending the borders of their relationship turn by turn.

 

The dragon tooth necklaces take longer than expected to arrive. Bull helps Dorian bend the metal ring on his birthright so the mage could wear them on the same cord. Dorian gives Bull the chain it used to hang on for the qunari’s pendant. 

 

After wearing a collar and ears, Dorian has the right to paint Bull’s Vitaar for the week. Rather than slapping the pigment on, making the qunari look like a fool, he renders it with tremendous care, the finished product a work of art. The tail is incorporated into the body paint, you might not know what you were looking at if you had no prior knowledge of their deal.

The stylised design incorporates ancient Tevinter glyphs as well as traditional Qunari patterns, conforms perfectly to The Bull’s musculature, must be the result of dedicated research and painstaking forethought.

It’s an unnecessary kindness, Bull honest when he says he doesn’t care what most people think of him. It makes the big man’s heart overfull.

 

He treats the mage’s request to be choked unconscious with a similar consideration, explains it’s not wise to be tied up the first time, better to have your hands free. If you can’t say the watchword, tapping three times will produce the same effect. The massive hand on Dorian’s throat finds the arteries, avoids the windpipe, squeezes gently, releases quickly when the sensation is scarier than expected.

They can try again later, if it’s important to Dorian. Otherwise, it was an interesting experiment. Bull doesn’t require every hook-up to be kinky, understands his kadan is seeking openness and trust. Validation is granted without condition, Dorian doesn’t have to prove anything.

The conversation about boundaries and how they like to be tested lasts long into the night, but is easy, comfortable, direct, sincere.

It ends with Dorian asking if he can be on top sometimes. Bull loves him enough to take an arrow for him, a dick is no problem. It’s not really his thing, but hell, he’ll let Dorian fuck him up the ass any day, so long as he gets to make terrible puns the whole time.

Because it’s Dorian’s thing. That’s a solid one right there. Neither joke deserves a laugh, but they both get one, anyway.

 

Bull tries not to chuckle at Dorian’s obvious jealousy when the chesty serving girl brings them their food. His curly moustache practically bristles when she flounces away.

There’s no reason to be hostile, The Bull is very much in love with his kadan. Besides, it’s not fair to talk about another person like they are two-dimensional.

Red Hair Bouncy Tit’s name is Cair and she write poetry. It’s terrible poetry, but she didn’t learn to read or write until she was 15. She’s trying to teach her two younger siblings as well, making due after their mother died of the fever.

Sure, Bull wouldn’t mind sleeping with her again, though he hopes he’s made it clear he only has eyes for Dorian. But, if the chastised mage feels like having a three-way, he wouldn’t say no.

And- holy shit- Dorian takes a deep breath, slams the rest of his drink and stands to follow her, lips resolutely pursed. Bull barely manages to catch one of his looping buckles to keep him from asking her to join them.

Would he have actually done it? Dorian has already fought a dragon for The Bull, he could convince himself to fuck a woman. Good information to have, they are both open to a third, but Bull would be satisfied with bringing in another man.

 

Dorian quickly picks up the Qunlat Bull teaches him, though it must be due to the man’s cleverness- The Bull isn’t the best teacher, provides verbs and nouns ad hoc. Everything Dorian learns he jots down, working hard to create a functional dictionary, even maintains a second copy for The Chargers to study.

The Bull pulls Dorian into his lap when he sees the papers on the desk, hugs him from behind, inadvertently brushes the smaller man’s bare sides. The ensuing tickle attack leaves Dorian red faced but with a smile which lingers for days.

Anything in the world is a fair trade for that broad grin, the little crinkles it forms by Dorian’s kohl lined eyes.

 

An off-hand admittance, Dorian laments the lack of galas in Skyhold, misses the dancing and the music from the Imperium.

Josephine is easy to convince, doesn’t ask why it’s important. Together they dress up the Herald’s Rest with dozens of candles, garlands of flowers, put cloths over the tables. With the promise of way too much to eat and drink, they pack the Rest with revellers.

Bull asks Dorian for a dance, glad the more agile mage doesn’t get upset when their knees awkwardly bump together, both trying to lead. A warrior all his life, Bull doesn’t know the dances by half, lets Josephine twirl with Dorian gracefully for a few songs so he can sit for a moment and catch his breath.

When Blackwall approaches to cut in, Dorian cheekily responds he’s been waiting for his invitation all night. The normally dour Warden takes the bait, wraps his arm around the mage’s waist and spins them both around before dipping the startled man backwards.

Clearly a little embarrassed to have been called on his bluff, Dorian excuses himself as a poorly matched partner. He kisses Josephine’s fingers before offering her hand to Blackwall, returns to Bull’s side.

 

As promised, there is way too much to drink. Bull and Dorian stagger out the Rest as morning light is spilling into the courtyard. Still too pumped to sleep, way too sloshed to fuck, they try to work out battle manoeuvres.

When the mage sits in the grass, spins overtaking him, Bull tries a few of the whirly staff moves Dorian was practising. The qunari gets a bit woozy himself, tries to support his weight on staff but slips and wedges it against a rock, snapping the blade tip clean off.

“Oops, have to Danget that tomo.” Bull offers by way of apology, handing the broken weapon back.

“Dag… dagerna.” Dorian tries to correct him.

“The same one.”

“Yup.”

Very nice to be on the same page as each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it again. Spilled my drink on my laptop and took out the track pad. I only have a phone estimate at this point, but it sounds like it shouldn't be too hard to fix. Using a hideous mouse the hotel was kind enough to lend me... whooo!
> 
> Made some little edits here and there, I wanted to add the bit about the necklaces into the next chapter, but wouldn't fit. I may try moving it again but we'll see.
> 
> I have massive writer's block and have written myself into a corner with my novel. I'm trying to shake things loose here.


	2. Bulls and Stags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A master of drunken hookups.

“Kill me, just kill me. Put a lightening bolt right between my eyes.”

Neither of them had any recollection of getting back to Bull’s room.

“You have to kill me first. Then I’ll do you.”

“Did I break your staff last night?”

“I don’t think we had sex last- kaffas.”

“Sorry, big guy. I might have something you can use to fix it? Let me vomit in my boot and I’ll look around.”

  


Dorian had put off going to see Dagna for a few days after his last misadventure, spent the time drafting a design and the runes necessary to create a small electrical charge.

He had debated not going at all, had gotten real sick of The Bull asking about the designs, saying he couldn’t wait to (har-dee-fucking-har-har) bone his kadan.

Had he expected to run into Sera in the Undercroft he would have either postponed a little longer or gone when he initially promised he would.

The elf and the dwarf sprang apart from their kisses, both relieved it was only Dorian coming through the door. Then both surprised he knew the other so well.

He had only a second to find their hand holding adorable (he was an admitted fan of size differences in couples) before Sera asked _how_ they knew each other.

_Oh, you know, your girlfriend makes literally the most magical dildos in Thedas. But, you’re probably aware. I’m here to ask her to make another one for me right now._

He would have made some excuse, forgetting he had the draft on piece of parchment in his hands.

Sera still refused to let him live the humiliation down.  

It made things a little awkward between Dagna and Dorian for a while, he had a hard time looking her in the eye when asking her to make legitimate modifications to his staff. Tool? Somehow way worse.

“What kind of alterations were you thinking about making?” The little dwarf was always so excited to create new kinds of magical accoutrements, happy to have free access to so many mages.

“I was thinking a heftier grip to start, but I wanted your opinion on fixing this up.”

Dorian handed her the dull Bassrath-kata dagger blade. The Bull had found it in his big chest of mixed weapon pieces and thought it could be salvaged. It had a clean, simple design, was heavy enough to provide a crushing blow if spun with sufficient force.

That it reminded him of Bull, was tied to the qunari’s heritage made him keen to see it grafted onto the staff.

“I could probably fix it up, why bring it to me and not Harrit?”

The man grumbled at the mention of his name.

“I wanted to put it on the end of my staf- stave.” Dammit, Sera. “I wanted to add a rune, too, but I’m not sure how we could affix it. Would carving on the surface damage the structural integrity?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Dagna turned the blade over in her hands. It was not made for a staff, was likely broken off a dagger hilt. Could be damaged already.

“Couldn’t we just add a rune to the other end? It’d fit perfectly on the top in the twisty metal bits.”

He’s not ashamed to admit it, the next time he stabs something in the face, he wants it’s head to burst into flames.

“Can we have one at each end?”

“Isn’t that overkill?”

Dorian shrugged. “Some have said the same of necromancy.”

Dagna giggled. “Leave it with me, I’ll have a look and see what we can do.”

“Thanks.”

  


Krem was appraising the Bull, trying to decide if he felt like mocking him or not. His commander smelled a bit like vomit, looked like he'd drunk enough to kill a human man.

“Fun night last night?”

“Feel like shit. No practice today.”

Bull’s face was on the table, his sprawling arms took up most of its surface.

“Thought demons didn't care about our feelings, chief. Can I get you anything?”

“Stab me in the face with your sword.”

“That an official order?”

The qunari mumbled into the wood it was.

“Here, come with me upstairs. I wanted to talk with you about something.”

“Don't make me do things, Krem.”

Bull’s whine had a hint of Dorian’s inflection. Generally hilarious they were rubbing off on each other. But in this moment obnoxious, what Krem needed to say was sensitive and couldn't be uttered on this floor of the Rest.

When they finally made it to the third floor, Bull was fairly green and Krem worn out from half dragging him.

“What is so damn important you'd torment me like this?” He huffed, collapsed into the nearest chair.

“Maryden kissed me last night.” The Charger took a seat across from him.

“Way to go, Krem!”

“No! It's just… everyone was so drunk last night. I don't even know if she remembers. How do I follow up after and evening like last?”

“So, what, suddenly I'm the expert on drunken hookups?”

“You and Pavus _do_ drink a lot.”

Bull was trying to think, blasted head pounding not making it easy. Krem didn't need to hear the details of their relationship or their ground rules.

“Just fuck her.”

“And that worked for you?”

“Yup.”

Krem was surprised Dorian was so easy. He seemed the kind of man who would at least insist on dinner first.

“I’ll take your advice into consideration.”

Maybe it was better to simply forget about it.

  


Dorian always felt oddly naked without a staff. It wasn't that he couldn't use magic without one, but it was much harder to channel, took more energy to make it do what he wanted it to. Without a grounding element, major spellwork messed with the fluid in his finger joints and made them crackly.

He would have accepted Bull’s large hand, resting on his back, as a comforting placeholder. Big lummox made Dorian feel safe even when he didn't know he needed re-assurance.

Unfortunately, Bull wasn’t at his usual spot in the tavern. Neither was Krem. They were likely out practising.

The idea of moving if not imperative was nauseating.

Dorian moved to the bar, hoped Cabot had the ingredients necessary to make a hair of the dog curative. Maybe something tomato-y.

He was pleasantly surprised with the result, though not the manner with which the drink was served.

It was savoury enough to keep down, just a little salty. Dorian drank it quickly, glad to have something in his belly aside from bile.

“What are you drinking?”

A deep voice and a long shadow. For a moment, Dorian thought it was The Bull. When he turned, he saw it was another qunari man all together.

Dear, was that racist of him? So like an Altus to confuse creatures of the same species so readily.

The qunari before him was huge, at least a head taller than his Bull, with one horn long enough to curl back and around, the other broken close to the skull. His skin was the colour of polished jasper, long braid grey with age.

If he had to peg his age, Dorian might have guessed his late 50s, but it was hard to tell with qunari. Every muscle of his body was defined, cut, practically shouted he lived an outdoor life, did not know much of luxury or excess.

With some embarrassment, Dorian noted the heavy outline at the front of the man’ trousers.

An exceptionally beautiful beast. Did this mean he had Par Vollen fever?

“Oh, um, i-it's mostly tomato juice.”

The qunari placed his hand around the glass, over Dorian’s, pulled them both up to his nose. He smelled the contents, smiled approvingly showing his teeth.

“Potato liquor. Very nice.”

His breath was hot. He didn’t immediately relinquish his hold of Dorian's’ hand when he tried to pull away.

“Just a recipe from an old almanac.”

“May I buy you another?”

As absurdly tempting as the offer was, Dorian didn't want to be a tease.

“While I'm flattered, I'm afraid I'm spoken for.” He touched the dragon tooth around his neck, hoped the meaning would be clear to the gorgeous creature.

The gesture did not deter him. The qunari grasped the pendant, leaned down to inspect it, knuckles in contact with Dorian’s bare skin.

Kaffas, his fingers were thick.

“I've seen one of these before.” The giant was speaking about the birthright, hanging alongside the dragon’s tooth.

“Yes, a relic from the old country. You can take the boy out of Tevinter, etcetera.”

“You are Tevinter? I had thought so. Come, let me buy you a drink. I won't bite you.” He added, seeing Dorian’s hesitation, again he smiled with his teeth.

It would be wonderful to be bitten by him. But, Bull was dearer to him than what would probably be the best one night stand of his life.

“I am Besrathari.”

Dorian knew this was a title, but wasn't quite certain what it meant.

“D-Dorian, of House Pavus.”

It was only a drink, but he didn't really trust himself not to do or say something foolish.

Before Dorian could turn him down again, The Bull came up behind him, placed his hand on his shoulders protectively.

  


Bull is certain his lieutenant won't take his advice. He doesn't understand why most humans are so prudish.

The ones Bull has dealt with are usually excited enough to hop into bed with him. Most fun you can have without spending money.

_Ten sovereigns, my ass._

Krem is done with him, dissatisfied with Bull’ suggestion, but not willing to say so out loud.

Bull suggests asking Dorian what he thinks. Either he'll agree with his amatus or he will offer a more whimsical alternative.

Speaking of Dorian, Bull can see him rushing across the courtyard. With his hair perfectly combed, his eyes neatly outlined, he doesn't look nearly as bad as Bull still feels.

He'd like to run down stairs and kiss him, but he will have to settle for staggering down the steps, one at a time.

His hangover is killing him, he’s only made it to the second floor by the time Dorian reaches the bar.

How can he possibly be considering another drink?

Bull watches his kadan for a minute, wants to shout down he won't kiss him if he tastes like booze. Not unless he can promise he won't get mad when Bull pukes on him.

It looks like tomato juice, but knowing Dorian it's probably not.

The hungover man is rounding the room (the next flight of stairs it so. damn. far. away) when a large qunari approaches the mage.

It is very rare to see another of his kind in Skyhold. There are a few merchants, a few Tal-Vasoth families.

The Bull pauses. It’s rude to spy on your lover, but he _is_ Ben-Hassrath.

He can read lips easily enough, though Dorian’s stammering makes it a challenge. He cannot see the qunari’s face to see what he is saying.

 _Please don't look at him like that_. The Bull can't help but be jealous. It's been awhile since Dorian has blushed around him, been so nervous.

In public, anyway.

 _Aww, thanks, kadan_. Bull smiles when the mage places his hand on his dragon tooth, turns down an offer for what he really hopes is a drink. Makes it all better.

He doesn't like the way the qunari is pawing at Dorian still, will go down and rescue him.

Bull wants to scare off the unwelcome suitor, stands behind Dorian and puts his own hands on the smaller man’s shoulders possessively.

“Hey, kadan, showing off your jewelry?”

“Bull!” It's almost a squeak of surprise.

“Is that you, Hissrad?”

Woah, Bull didn't recognise him from behind. Looking at him head on, he sees it's Kost, an Arvaarad he worked with in Seheron.

It makes him uncomfortable he was talking to Dorian.

“I didn't recognise you without the horn.” Bull says, trying to scan the larger qunari for signs he may pose a threat.

“Relax, I'm Besrathari now. I assume this one is yours?”

“Yes.”

“Standing just right here, you know.” Dorian has recovered from his initial shock, is now giving him an annoyed glare.

“Shit, sorry. Kost, this is Dorian. Dorian, Kost.”

“Yes, we have met.” Bull is going to pay for talking about the man like an object later.

“Hey, Dorian, can you go talk to Krem? I think he wanted your opinion on something. I'll bring us something to eat.”

His kadan huffs, thinks he's been shooed away for no good reason, but listens to Bull.

“Fine. It was lovely to meet you.” Dorian nods to Kost before joining Krem.

“Why are you here?” The Bull asks when Dorian is far enough away. 

“Same reason as you, Hissrad. I read a few of your reports. Just having a look at this Inquisition for myself. You didn't say you were allying with Tevinter. That could make things awkward.”

“We aren't allied with Tevinter.”

“Well behaved saarebas, followed you here without a leash?”

Kost and The Bull looked over to the table, caught Dorian staring in their direction. The mage quickly became re-absorbed in his conversation with Krem again.

“Dorian is fighting with us to protect all of Thedas, of his own free will. We're the ones late to the party this time.”

“Bas with a conscience? Laudable, all things considered.”

Bull was relieved he didn't have to justify any further.

“Hn. Why awkward?”

“How’s that?” Kost was looking over at the table again. The Charger was relating his concern and Dorian was listening patiently, ears still red.

“You said something about Tevinter alliances.”

“Ah, yes. We are thinking of forging an Alliance with the Inquisition.”

“You're shitting me.” A complete surprise. He hadn't written his reports with this in mind.

“As I said, we are considering it. I'm having a look around to decide if things really have gotten that bad.”

Bull lets the information sit with him. He never thought he'd see the day his people would willingly join forces with unenlightened foreigners.

“Your saarebas-”

“My kadan.” Bull suddenly understands why titles are important to Dorian.

“Sure.” Kost doesn't sound impressed. “Do you share him?”

It would be gratifying to tell Kost to fuck off, but Bull remembers Dorian’s resolute expression when he stood to follow Cair and the tooth around his neck weighs more than it usually does.

The little mage did seem smitten. It could be fun to give him more qunari cock than he could handle.

“You can meet with us later tonight. I will show you where after dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Son of bitc, looks like a few buttons dont work anymore. Care to uess wic ones?
> 
> Written on my phone, please be kind. Ill fix the spacing at home.


	3. Differential Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qunari cock fest, more Bull feels.

Kost had joined them for dinner. He was more reserved than Bull, but had a better handle on how to teach Qunlat. He provided a certain structure which seemed to make learning easier.

Probably why he was a Besrathari now.

Dorian’s infatuation was becoming glaringly obvious. He asked far too many questions but made very little eye contact. And he didn't brag once about himself.

Krem didn't want to be at the table. It was getting weird; the mage clearly flustered, Bull too okay with the situation. Was it possible to be a fourth wheel?

 

When their plates were cleared away, The Bull remained seated.

“Hey, Krem.” Bull stopped his lieutenant from leaving the table, let Dorian and Kost get a little ahead of them.

“What’s up, Chief?”

“Distract him, for maybe an hour?”

Krem doesn't ask questions he doesn't want to know the answers to.

“Hey, Pavus!” Instead he hops up and runs to catch up with the Altus. “Do you want to-” feet faster than his brain, “Pick flowers with me?”

Dorian blinked a few times, the question might have been asked in another language.

“Why the hell would I want to do that?”

“You said I should get the girl I like something nice, right? I want to get her flowers. I don't know anyone else with good enough taste to ask. No way I'm taking Bull or, Maker forbid, Rocky.”

Great save. Smooth as a quillback’s behind.

“And this has to be right now? It's dark out.”

“Don't worry, I'll protect you from any demons we run into.”

Dorian wanted to say something catty, but shook it off.

“Fine, madman. Let go _picking flowers_. Bull?”

“Kost and I were going to catch up a little anyway.” Bull tells them.

The behemoth nods in agreement. They watch the two Tevinter men leave the Rest, Dorian greatly vexed.

 

“I thought we were going to your quarters, Hissrad.” Kost isn't disappointed, but is confused.

“We will. But I sort of want to surprise him with this.”

“And that is necessary?”

Spoilsport. He had been a bit of a stick-in-the-mud in Seheron, too.

“No, but it'd be fun. Here, I'll walk you to the room. Wait a few hours before you stop by again.”

 

“So, who is the lucky lady?”

Krem was annoyed Dorian’s idea of picking flowers was to stand a few feet away, assessing the cleanliness of his finger nails.

“I like sucking dick, not picking posies. Though I suppose as a straight man you must harbour some interesting ideas about my hobbies.”

Bull was right, that was a little creepy when he responded to words unspoken.

“You spend all day in the library, I didn't think you had any hobbies.”

“Drinking doesn't count?”

Krem laughed.

“No. I have sucked a dick before, by the way.”

“And I've licked a pussy. Your point?” The mage made a face recalling the taste.

It was very difficult to imagine Dorian eating a girl out. The moustache would probably lose its curl.

“Its Maryden.” Krem says softly, afraid to speak her name.

“The bard?” Dorian looked up from his nails, considered the pairing for a moment. “She has very striking features.”

“She has the most beautiful voice. It makes me feel happy, at peace, makes me forget we're in the middle of a war.”

The Altus knelt alongside Krem in the grass, began picking the flowers.

“Not too good to play in the mud?” The soporati joked.

“Never too good to help a friend in a quest for true love.” Said with an eye-roll.

Krem hadn’t really considered Dorian a friend before then. It was odd to realise that was what they were. The son of a slave and the son of a magister picking flowers in the middle of the night.

Dorian hadn’t even tried to call him on his nug shit. Hadn't enjoyed being dragged out on a fool's errand, but did it with minimal complaint.

“Do you think I even have a shot?”

“Don't sell yourself short. You are a kind and honourable man. You fight for what you believe in, look after your comrades, risk your life for the sake of others, and you aren't _too_ hard on the eyes. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

Dorian arranged the flowers in his hand, took the bundle from Krem and tidily wove them together. It only took a few minutes for the mass to resemble a bouquet.

“You're good at that.” Krem wasn’t sure he could say thanks and not tear up a bit.

“Shameful, but I think I must agree.” He made a few final adjustments, wrapped a long leaf around to serve as a binding. “There you are.”

Krem took the flowers, felt bad he had no intention of giving them to Maryden that night or anytime soon.

“Pavus?”

“You can call me Dorian. You do know I'm not actually a magister, don't you?”

“Dorian, then.”

“What is is Krem?”

“I'm glad you and the Chief have each other. I think you're really good for him.”

“Thank you, Krem. I try to be.” A little misty-eyes himself.

“Well, you have your flowers. I'm going to go home and wash again. I swear I am sweating pure alcohol at this point. Never a good thing when you're wont to set things ablaze in your sleep.”

Krem suppressed a chuckle. The Chief had told him that story.

“Goodnight, Dorian.”

“Vitae benefaria.”

 

Krem took the bouquet back to his own room, put it in an empty ale tankard. He played with the leaves and petals.

“Oh, shit!” He realised he only kept Dorian occupied for about 20 minutes.

 

Bull was trying to make Dorian’s room look pretty. He lit a few candles, put away some books, made the bed, laid several lengths of rope on the quilt next to the matching silk blindfold and gag.

He had been planning on shaving, too. Maybe putting on a little of the rich, sweet smelling cream Dorian liked.

The door swung open unexpectedly, Bull nicked himself turning at the sound.

Dorian stood by the door, looked around the room.

“Oh, amatus...”  

He closed the door and locked it behind him.

“I was trying to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised. But you've cut yourself!” Dorian tutted, wiping away the blood with the sea sponge.

“Here, sit down and I'll do it for you.”

His kadan was an expert in the art of the close shave. Bull let him deftly use the razor to clean up his stubble.

“Let me wash you.” The Bull offered when he was done.

He took his time, let his large hands wander over the toned brown body. When his cock became rigid, Dorian stood on his toes, tried to rub against it.

“Horny, kadan?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Hmm. Go lay on the bed, I will clean myself up and join you.”

Dorian moved to sit on the bed, but changed directions partway there. He opened a drawer in his desk, removed the dragon bone phallus.

Bull watched from the corner of his eye as Dorian slicked it with oil, knelt on the bed and pressed it into himself.

The mage traced the runes on the base, made a small noise as it shocked him.

Bull finished towelling off, came to the side of the bed.

“Naughty, kadan. I didn't say you could start without me.”

He grabbed Dorian by the hair, pushed his face into the mattress.

“I'm going to have to punish you.”

He gave the firm ass a few hard smacks before pulling out the dildo. It was quickly replaced with a few slick fingers. Dorian tried to arch his back, to let them slip in further.

Bull moved his hand, preventing Dorian from fucking himself on them.

“Bull, please.”

“Tonight you call me sir, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” Bull rewarded him with a few more hard slaps. He resumed fingering him, enjoying the sounds his efforts created.

Fingering Dorian was definitely in his top five favourite things to do. The order was roughly:

  1. Fighting dragons
  2. Fingering Dorian
  3. Fucking Dorian
  4. Fighting Venatori
  5. Fighting pretty anything else



Depending on the day, drinking or eating might knock one of the bottom two off.  

“Now get on your back.”

Dorian quickly rolled over for him. Bull got to work tying him into a pleasing position.

Bull looped the rope around the mage’s neck, tied it off in slip knots so it wouldn't pull to tight on its own. The ends of the rope were bound to Dorian’s wrists- if he wanted, he could stretch his arms out slightly and choke himself to his heart’s content.

Tying his legs was always more of a challenge. Bull wanted to be able to move Dorian around, switch the position if the mood struck him. He didn't want Dorian to have too much freedom of movement, though. It took away some of the magic if the knots were too loose.

It was a tough decision, but Bull settled on simply wrapping the rope around and between both calf and thigh, bringing them together.

Dorian lifted his head to make it easier for The Bull to blindfold and gag him.

“So accommodating.” Bull teased, stroking his kadan’s cheek. “I think you deserve a treat.”

He put away the bone dick, retrieved the dawnstone one. With Dorian's hands tied to his neck, they couldn't utilise its unique properties. The stone one was bigger, too, always better.

Dorian moaned into the soft cloth in his mouth as Bull eased in the first few inches. By the time it was all the way in, he was begging for Bull to fuck him with it, words muffled but unmistakable.

Bull hooked a finger on the gag to pull it aside.

“What's that?” He asked.

“Please, sir, please fuck me.”

Bull laughed, stuffed the cloth back into his mouth.

“Believe me, I intend to.”

For the next hour, he took things as slow as possible, brought Dorian right up to the brink of orgasm before edging him back down again.

When he pulled out the stone and laid it on the floor, the mage made a sound which could only be described as pitiful.

“Don't worry, you'll get to come tonight. You're so impatient, kadan.”

Bull removed his blindfold leaned in to kiss Dorian over the silk between his lips.

“I have a little surprise for you, I think you're really going to enjoy it. But if I'm wrong, well… we don't have to do anything if you aren't comfortable, okay?”

Dorian raised a brow, curiosity piqued.

“Mmf drss uuhm duh?”

It took the big man a couple seconds to deduce the meaning.

“No, you don't have to dress like a dog. Well, no, not tonight.”

Bull reached for the gold coin he'd set on the nightstand. He placed it on Dorian's palm, closed his hand to hold it.

“Because I might not be able to understand you, just drop the coin like this,” Bull rotated the smaller man’s wrist towards his face, “and we’ll stop whatever we're doing. Alright?”

“Yff, thr.”

There was a loud knock on the door. Damn, he had great timing.

“Remember we don't have to do anything you don't want to.” Bull stood to answer the door.

When Kost entered the room, erection already prominent in his pants, Dorian looked like he might faint, but he held the coin fast.

“I hope I haven't missed too much.” Kost stated, seeing Dorian already bound and flushed.

“We've just been waiting for you.”

Bull sat back on the bed, pulled the mage part way into his lap to make room for the other qunari.

Kost removed his boots, gauntlets, and clothing revealing the rust colour on his skin was full body vitaar; his well-muscled legs and fantastically, impossibly massive cock were almost the hue of obsidian.

He knelt between Dorian's legs pushed his knees apart.

“Can he take a qunari cock?”

“And then some.”

The painted qunari grunted his approval.

“Can't you, kadan?” Bull murmured softly at Dorian's ear. “What a nice big dick for you. Do you want that inside you?”

Dorian nodded enthusiastically.

Kost positioned himself to penetrate the bound mage.

“Oh, wait, here.” Bull handed him the vial of oil.

“I don't need that.”

“He might.”

He took the offered oil grudgingly, coated his dark cock.

Sufficiently lubricated, Kost grabbed Dorian's hips, dragged him closer, tilted his knees back to find an optimal angle.

Dorian's whole body seized as the dick head was driven into him.

“Easy.” Bull whispered to his lover, petting his hair. “Breath- relax- take it deep.”

The smaller man, like a doll in the grip of the larger qunari, was controlling his breathing, letting the long, fat prick spear him wide open.

Bull held his knees apart, helped Dorian resist the natural compulsion to close his thighs and he was impaled to the hilt.

“Good job, Dorian. You took that whole dick.” He rested his hand on the mage’s lower abdomen, shit that dick really was deep in there.

“Bas saarebas iss!” Kost was clearly impressed.

For his part, Dorian was in heaven. The combination of being stretched too far, one cock inside him, one poking into his back beyond words to describe, and being penned between two massive beasts... He was glad he was gagged, was certain he’d be babbling inanely if he had full use of his mouth.

“Does that feel good?” Bull was massaging Dorian's stomach, creating a fuller sensation. “My kadan, I hope you are ready: we are going to ruin you tonight. By the end of the evening, you are going to be a mess, a gaping, drooling, sobbing, sloppy, come filled mess. You're not going to walk right for weeks after this."

He knew the mage liked dirty talk, and he knew he'd been edged for a considerable period of time, but he hadn't expected Dorian to come from his words alone.

Dorian's expression was one of sheer embarrassment. Freaking precious.

“I didn't give you permission to come.” Bull growled.

“Mf thrry, thr.” Dorian whimpered through the gag.

“You will be sorry.” Bull looked to Kost. “Fuck him- _hard_.”

Obviously waiting for his que, the larger qunari engaged in the punishment with fervour.

Dorian clutched the coin for dear life, afraid he might drop it on accident while getting so brutally reamed. It was getting hard to string a complete thought together, he'd never forgive himself if he let go and Bull called it quits.

 

The two qunari took turns pounding him. His position was changed frequently, fingers and cocks vied for the right to enter his body first or simultaneously.

When Bull grabbed his cock, Dorian too quickly came again.

“Geez, you're messy tonight, kadan.” Bull wiped his hand on the silk in Dorian's mouth, untied the knot to remove it.

He could get away with be gratuitously depraved, but he didn't want to get yelled at for intentionally cleaning his hands on the bed linens.

The moment his mouth was free, the mage twisted around to swallow Bull, lips wrapping around the base. Dorian didn't need instruction, fucked his own throat with Bull’s dick.

Bull felt Dorian's throat close around him, glanced down to see him pull on the ropes, constricting them to choke himself.

Bull had already come once, the evidence still leaking out of Dorian with each savage thrust from Kost, but was up for a second.

He pulled Dorian off his cock by the hair, held the smaller man's head back so he could spatter come across his tear-streaked face and into his open mouth.

“Ho, fuck.” The tree hadn't gotten very much rest the previous evening, was utterly spent by now.

Sensing the fun was winding down, Kost leaned heavily into the mage beneath him, beat his cock into him. He came with a roar, fingertips leaving bruises on Dorian's hips.

Kost pulled out and sat up at the foot of the bed, leaving Bull to untie his kadan.

He rubbed feeling back into the slender brown fingers and toes, used the gag to clean up some of the stickiness on Dorian's face.

“Okay?” Dorian was smiling dreamily, but Bull preferred verbal confirmation.

“So much.”

Not really an answer to his question, but it would do.

“Let me clean you up. Heat the water?”

“Huh?” Dorian didn't seem to be hearing him.

“I'll bring it closer.”

Bull moved the wash stand from its location on the stone by the mirror, mindful not to spill a drop on the carpet.

Dorian held his hand above the water but didn't move his fingers. He appeared to have forgotten the glyphs to heat it up.

As much as Bull enjoyed Dorian’s loopy, post coital daze, he hoped they hadn't permanently broken his brain. Was it possible to come so hard you experienced brain damage?

The mage remembered how to heat the water, but moved much slower to complete the task.

Kost frowned, perturbed by Dorian's trivial use of magic or Bull’s request for him to use it so.

It was unnerving. Bull wished he hadn't asked, tried to piece together the mood of the other qunari. He'd been happy enough to fuck a mage, why display displeasure when he witnessed a simple spell?

 

“This is basra vashedan.” The Besrathari enlightened him once Dorian was sleeping.

“What is?”

“You shouldn't let him do that.” Referencing the minor spell. “You don't encourage them to be cavalier with their power. It is dangerous.”

“I don't think I could stop Dorian from doing anything, even if I wanted to.”

“Saarebas need to be controlled. They crave it, you can see he wants you to have him bound. If you cannot control him, give him qamek and chain him to your bed.”

The idea makes Bull’s stomach turn. His fetish to fuck Dorian dumb is part of a game, he tells himself, he would never hurt the mage.

“You are losing your way, Hissrad. You need to remember who and what you are. Rededicate yourself to the Qun.”

“I am dedicated to the Qun.”

“Hissrad, you are fat and you smell like flowers.”

Kost stands, begins to dress himself.

“He does not carry a staff. I did not assume you permitted him to practice magic.”

Bull tried to recall if Kost has always been such an asshole, or if it's The Bull who has changed over the years. He can remember idolising the man in Seheron, wanting to learn from him, be like him.

“I broke it the other day.” Bull knows how that sounds, but doesn't want to clarify about the play fighting, the binge drinking.

“That was wise.”

“If you have such a problem with him, why did you approach him in the tavern? You were friendly with him at dinner.” It's hard to keep his voice down, even though his kadan seems pretty out of it.

“He is obviously wealthy, connected, from Tevinter. An Altus staggers into bar, reeking of booze and orders more to drink? Within an instant of turning around, his eyes are on my cock. A gift from the heavens. Has it never occurred to you he might have useful information for a potential assault or an invasion? All you have to do is fuck it out of him.”

It had occurred to Bull, he could fill books with the useful tidbits Dorian rattles off when speaking about his homeland. When the mage is drunk, he's like a busted water pump of useful information.

“You are too soft, Ben-Hassrath. I am sorry for what happened in Seheron, but you need to move past it. You do good work, but we both know you can do better. I will show myself out.”

Bull sits in the dark. He feels guilty, conflicted. He'd like to tell himself he is upset he let the old bastard into Dorian's room without vetting him more thoroughly, for seeing the man with rose tinted lenses, the concern he felt had only been jealousy.

He's ashamed to admit he feels like he let his people down. He hugs the sleeping Dorian closer to him. Was falling in love intentional? Was it smart? After an evening of animalistic rutting, they both still smell like flowers.

If he had to choose between Dorian and the Qun, could Bull honestly say he would make the right choice?


	4. Asymmetric Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and Dorian have their first real fight.

The Bull had not slept well, possibly not at all. Running on two days of ill-conceived plans and poor sleep was beginning to weigh heavily on him.

 _Not the only thing weighing heavily on you_. He thought sadly, hand on his gut. Kost had been old even when Bull was young, how did he manage to maintain himself all these years later? 

Too much indulgence, too much basra vashedan. Maybe Bull should give up drinking, do a better job of avoiding bad habits. He was too used to excess, had lost mastery of himself.

Dorian was still slumbering, curled up under the covers. After the merciless fuckfest he had endured, he’d likely sleep for several more hours if left alone. Bull rearranged the covers around him, tried not to jostle him while sliding off the mattress.

Bull considered shaking the mage awake, warning him to stay away from Kost. Afraid the other qunari might come to the conclusion Dorian required modification in order to be acceptable under the Qun. How would that conversation even go?

_So you know the guy I brought into our bed last night? Well, he thinks you’re literal trash and told me to fry your brains like an egg so you’re easier to handle. Speaking of eggs, though, want to get some breakfast with me?_

“I’m going out for a little bit, kadan. Do you want anything from the Rest?”

The mage burrowed further into the blankets, mumbled something which sounded like ‘ham.’

“You got it.”

But Bull did not immediately head to the tavern. He figured he had the bulk of the morning to do as he pleased before Dorian even part-way roused. Instead he found a quiet spot on the ramparts to complete what had once been a daily ritual for him in Seheron.

He tried, and miserably failed, to meditate. Then he gave stretching a go. He could still touch his toes, but his hands would not meet behind his back without great effort. When it came time to recite passages of the Qun at length while swinging his maul, there were odd gaps in his memory. The ideas were there, but the words themselves eluded him.

It was devastating, what he had presumed was an integral part of his person had evaporated. Bull could not pinpoint when Hissrad had slipped away, The Iron Bull had impudently taken his place.

Bull felt estranged from himself, a sort of angry dissociation.

It was hard not to take it out on Cabot, already at his post. The dwarf knew his place and, even if it meant washing vomit from the tavern stoop with a bucket of dirty dishwater at dawn, he was there fulfilling his purpose rain or shine. It was enviable.

“What do you want?” Cabot grumbled at him, chucking the bucket aside.

What did The Bull want? Peace, presence of mind, a sense of self, for the gnawing guilt to wane. Also maybe breakfast.

“Kitchen staff up yet?”

The dwarf motioned Bull could follow him inside.

As good as meat sounded right then, it felt like an undeserved indulgence. He ordered Dorian’s ham, some fruit and toast as well. For himself, he requested plain rice, whatever unseasoned vegetables were on hand.

Cabot offered him a drink while he waited, Bull asked for water.

 

Dorian almost fell out of bed, startled by the sudden banging on his door.

_Pants?_

Somewhere, possibly too far away to find. His ass hurt (naturally) but he was confused by the pain in his hand until he saw the little red ring on his palm.

_Coin._

He wrapped the blankets around himself and shuffled to the door, bleary eyed.

“Where is Hissrad?”

What a very merry good morning Kost extended to him. Dorian couldn’t really recall. Had Bull said where he was going this morning? Only a sudden craving for pork came to mind.

“Food?” Dorian tried, hoped it was a functional enough response.

Kost pushed past him into the room, looked around. He seemed angry, not making any attempt to conceal his ire Bull was not present.

“I have important documents for him. Are you capable of holding onto them until he returns?” It wasn’t a question of language barrier, the tone of voice very much condescending.

Dorian decided he didn’t much like being insulted by a man whose come was presently running down the back of his leg. It was not an unfamiliar emotion, but was one he had hoped he wouldn't experience again in his lifetime.

“Capable? Entirely. Willing? That’s increasingly becoming another matter.”

The painted qunari stared down at him for a moment. It was an unsettling gaze, loaded yet unreadable. For a second, the mage though he might be struck. Without a staff on hand, it might be too much effort to take the hulking creature on. Better to live to fight another day, yes?

Dorian looked away, took a step back.

“Put them on the desk. I’ll see he gets them when he’s back.”

Kost placed a thick envelope on the desk but did not leave. Dorian suddenly felt very, very small and very, very naked. He thought he remembered the previous evening with perfect clarity, but maybe something had slipped his mind. As unfamiliar as he was with qunari customs, maybe he had over stepped somehow without realising it.

“Look, Kost, or Besrathari, I’m not sure which you prefer- have I offend-”

“I am leaving today. It is of no consequence what I prefer to be called.”

“Right. As I was saying, if I said or did anything which might have troubled you-”

“Your very existence troubles me.”

He can’t quite put together a snappy comeback in time.

“Be silent, bas, and heed me well. I offer my advice as a courtesy to Hissrad as he is fond of you.” He stepped too close for comfort. “Mind yourself. You would do well to obey him. Hissrad may tolerate you, but other Ben-Hassrath will not brook insolence nor a saarebas, a bas saarebas, sullying his reputation. The Qun has a place for all things, and yours is not so lofty as you might envision.”

He turned to leave, left no room for retort, let the door slam shut behind him.

“That was certainly rude.” Dorian spoke aloud to himself, too stunned to be outraged. A saarebas was a mage, wasn't it?

Well, if turnabout was fair play…

The envelope was not sealed, so he peaked inside. The thick velum was covered with symbols, some Dorian could read, the overwhelming majority he could not. He could sound out the words from what Bull taught him of the Qunari alphabet, other than phonetics? The translation was well beyond him.

It was distressing.

 

Bull returned earlier than he’d expected to, with a tray of breakfast foods. He was surprised Dorian was awake and at his desk.

“What’cha got there?” The qunari asked.

“I don’t know, our friend left it for you.”

Their friend? _Shit, Kost._

Dorian spoke with an indignant huff, but didn’t look injured. Bull breathed a sigh of relief.

“Let me see.”

He thumbed through the pages, skimming them. From what Bull read, the papers outlined conditions for an alliance between the Qunari nation and the Inquisition, provided instructions for his own role in implementing it. He hadn’t expected the Besrathari would make such a recommendation, given his personal opinions on mages, the Inquisition’s stance on letting them run free.

An alliance could prove tremendously beneficial to the Inquisition. Or it could be the opening of flood gates, giving his people an opportunity to plan full scale invasion. Flood gates he should want to open. The thought was too dark to hold for long.

“What does it say?” Dorian was on his toes, trying to peer over the papers as Bull held them up. 

“I...” Bull wanted to read the documents in their whole before divulging their contents. If the terms were not favourable, it wouldn't be wise to start rumours. No point getting the Inquisitor involved until he knew more.

“I’ll read over this after we eat.”

Dorian sniffed in obvious annoyance, not wanting to be kept in the dark.

“Here, I got you your ham.” Bull handed the mage a plate.

“How did you know I wanted ham?” Dorian was so delighted, Bull couldn't bring himself to tell the truth.

“Ben-Hassrath, I know everything.”

“Wait, did I sleep-ask for this?”

So much for preserving a little mystery.

 

They finished breakfast, stacked the plates on the tray outside the door to remember to take them back to the Rest later.

Dorian assumed, only half-incorrectly, The Bull’s meagre breakfast was attributable to a bout of self-consciousness. It pained him to think his poor amatus didn’t find himself handsome, desirable. Thankfully the big oaf’s ego was easy to stoke.

Tiny pecks quickly turned into lustful nips, and into searing bites. Bull held Dorian against the wall, long brown legs wrapped around powerful grey hips.

Soreness from the previous evening made Dorian more sensitive; he wailed loudly, begged Bull to fuck him harder, raking his nails along the qunari’s back drawing blood.

“Ah! Too deep!” It was said to entice the beast, if Dorian really wanted him to stop, he could always say ‘katoh.’

“Come on, kadan. You can take more than that.”

Bull passed his arm under Dorian’s knee, hiking it up so he could thrust even deeper.

“Amatus!” Gasping and moaning now.

“That’s right. Show your amatus how you come.”

The mage obliged him, maintained eye contact as he was pounded through a shuddering orgasm.

Though his kadan’s gaze was the perfect combination of adoration and ecstasy, Bull couldn’t quite get there. There was not enough thought behind it.

A vision of Dorian, eyes dull, expression listless, emptied of all life and personality by qamek had haunted him all night, refused to recede even in in the daylight. Shutting his eye only made the picture more vivid in his mind.

It made him want to start an argument then and there just to see the angry, vital spark as Dorian glared daggers at him.

“Be with me, amatus.” Dorian whispered against his lips, sensing Bull’s thoughts were elsewhere.

Bull gave it an earnest attempt, but finally pulled out half hard and made an excuse about being too tired from last night. 

Between the Besrathari’s disdain and Bull’s evasive behaviour, Dorian was convinced he was missing a crucial piece of information from last night. He had trusted Bull implicitly when he’d brought Kost into their lovemaking, it made him uneasy to think the trust might have been misplaced. 

“Did I do something wrong yesterday?”

“Hm? No, why would you think that?”

“Kost was weird this morning. You’re being weird right now.”

“In what way?”

“Kost? In a pants- shittingly- terrifying- if- I- was- wearing- pants- this- monster- looks- like- he- wants- to- hurt- me- _very-_ badly way. You? I’m not sure. It’s like you’re hiding something. What exactly does your religion say about magic users, aside from noting our willful natures, the need to subdue us? Do you really still sew our mouths shut?”

“I don't want to argue about the Qun, Dorian.” Bull can feel himself getting defensive.

“No, let’s. I’d always assumed quanri were generally reasonable, yourself included. Now I’m wondering if that’s not the case. I’m wondering what someone like me has to do to merit having his lips stitched together.”

Someone like Dorian. A loquacious, Tevinter Altus? Dorian only has to be Dorian to “deserve” qamek, he wouldn’t even be lucky enough to have his mouth sewn shut.

“I really don’t want to have this conversation.” Bull says after too long a pause, regretting his wish to see Dorian angry with him.

“Well, I really do want to have this conversation.” Infuriatingly insistent. “You aren’t just a qunari, you’re Qunari with a capital ‘q.’ If I’m bedding down with a Ben-Hassrath sworn to uphold the ‘values’ of the Qun, I should very much like to know when I can expect to wake up to you standing over me with a needle and thread.”

The accusation really hurts Bull. He would never do something so awful to Dorian.

“Kadan…”

“Don’t ‘kadan’ me. I need to know precisely where the line gets drawn between Hissrad and The Iron Bull, between your work with the Inquisition and under the Qun. I need to know which one of you I'm sleeping with.”  

The very crux of the morning’s internal agonizing. There isn’t going to be a satisfying answer.

“Is there more than one of me?” Bull asks, hoping Dorian will give him the answer.

“I almost feel like that depends on which one of you I’m speaking with. Wouldn’t Hissrad say no and Bull say yes?”

This has the potential to be headache inducing, like one of the mage’s riddle books.

“I wanted to believe there was no Hissrad.” Dorian continues quietly. “I want to believe there’s only Bull.”

Bull places his hands on Dorian’s bare shoulders gently.

“Dorian, I-”

A soft knock at the door draws their attention.

“Just a minute!” Dorian shouts impatiently, he does want to hear what Bull is going to say.

“I can’t answer your question the way you want me to, but-”

The knocking again.

“One moment!” Dorian tries not to sound as peeved as he is.

“I really need you to know I would never-”

The third time the knocking occurs, Dorian charges the door and throws it open.

“What is it?” The mage snarls.

It’s Dagna and Sera, the little dwarf’s look of excitement morphs into one of bloodless horror- her height puts her at an unfortunate vantage point.

“We- we brought your s-staff. I couldn't put a rune on the blade, s-sorry.” She appears transfixed.

Sera laughs hysterically, Dorian suddenly realises he isn’t wearing any clothes.

In an attempt to preserve his dignity, he clears his throat delicately, reaches down and collects his weapon.

“Ladies.” His tone haughty as ever though he is beet red from his hair to his sternum, nods to them. “Allow me to conclude my current engagement, and I will find you both later in the Undercroft.”

He closes the door carefully, Sera’s howling still audible. With a groan, Dorian presses his forehead to the wood.

“I am an utter ass.” He says.

Bull pulls him into an embrace.

“I know you are. Kind of why I love you.” He squeezes the smaller man tighter. “I really do love you. If you only believe one thing I tell you, will you believe that?”

Dorian looks up at Bull. It’s clear he at least wants to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, I made it home. I forgot how comfortable my couch was. Also, I forgot how big my old MacBook is. This is too much screen for me.
> 
>  
> 
> It's odd, but sometimes I have a hard time doing proper editing until I post a chapter. As if reading a piece like it was written by another person changes how I want to write it.
> 
> Or it could be that knowing it's out there changes how I want to to be perceived? At this point I am trying to convince myself I have the follow through to write something expansive and not be embarrassed about how it could be received.
> 
> A big part of that is learning to let go of the chapters as I write them, to not obsess over every detail. Any advice from the more seasoned writers?
> 
> Anyway, good to be home.


	5. Simultaneous Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric gets more fodder for his book. Dorian and Bull spend some time apart.

Dorian was annoyed Sera and her Widdle were not in the Undercroft. They had taken pains to bother him in his room, just to let him know they couldn’t do what he asked and now they were nowhere to be found.

He’d been ready to march back to the library and never leave it when he ran into Varric in the Hall.

“How’s the hip, Sparkler? You up for a little jaunt with me and the Inquisitor?”

He would like to respond archly, but sternly told himself he is only mad because he got into it with Bull. Entering into an emotionally charged conversation with the dwarf practically guarantees what he says will end up in a book someday.

“Fine, thanks. Only a bit stiff in the morning. I’m happy to come along.”

“Here, have a seat by the fire. Warm up a bit. I was just working on my new book, maybe you can take a quick look at it before we head out.”

Anything to take his mind off the terrible morning he’s had. A few days apart might put things into perspective. Varric hands him a stack of loose parchment. Only, no such luck.

_The Impertinent and the Imperious: A Passionate and Forbidden Affair_

“I have a feeling I’m not in the mood to read this.” The title is terrible, mostly because he doesn’t think he and Bull can be summed up with two adjectives. Right now the title of their relationship would be a volume on it’s own.

Or maybe just 9 words: _Doomed to Fail, A Tale of Best Laid Mans._

Goodness, when had he picked up Bull’s habit of terrible word play?

“Why? You and Tiny get into a fight?”

“Hmph.”

“Oh.” Varric at least knows when a joke is about to cross the line, put the manuscript aside.

“Are you really writing a book about us? Why?” It seemed so silly to Dorian. Why not write a book on Dagna and Sera while he was at it?

“Loosely inspired by true events, you have to admit it's a good hook. A handsome but quarrelsome magister gives up everything for a noble and gentle savage.”

That’s not quite how things happened, he had already left Tevinter well before meeting The Bull.  But Dorian doesn’t want to give Varric another reason to think he is quarrelsome.

“I’m not actually a magister. You southerners all seem to have a very hard time grasping the difference between magister and mage.”

“Like I said, loosely based on real life. Plus all the ladies in Orleais are really into this kind of crap right now.”

The idea of young women fanning themselves while reading about their exploits doesn’t sound as terrible as he might have thought. The book would certainly be banned in Tevinter, so it wasn’t as if any of his immediate family would have access to it.

It would be nice if Varric changed their names, just to be on the safe side.

“You’d describe your own work as ‘crap?’ I mean, I’m inclined to agree, but still.”

“Just have to know your audience, Sparkler, then you can sell whiskers to a cat.”

“Is that a dwarven saying?” Dorian hadn’t heard it before.

“Well, I’m a dwarf and I’m saying it.”

“You really aren’t half as clever as you think.”

“Look who’s talking.” Varric was jotting something down in a notebook. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“That depends. Are you writing down what I’m saying?”

Varric put his pencil down, turned to face Dorian.

“I’m all ears.”

Dorian wasn’t sure if Varric was a good person to use as a sounding board. He’d prefer Sera, would make do with Krem in a pinch. 

“Here,” the dwarf reached into his pocket and produced a bag. “Candied dates, consider it a bribe.”

“I don’t think I want to sell the rights to my life-story for a bag of candy.” The man took them anyway.

“A gift then?”

“Alright fine. If you pick up that pencil, I’m gone.” Dorian considers when to start with his story. This morning seems a better place than last night, he can’t imagine retelling that story for anything, not even on pain of death.

“I consider it reasonable to want to know how the Qun fits into his life, I don’t understand how a rational man like Bull can purport to follow the Qun despite it’s barbaric practices. Especially where it concerns some of the more relevant core doctrines. How mages are treated, for example. It’s absolutely abhorrent.”

“Collared and leashed? I thought that was sort of you guys’ thing.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, it was just the one time.” Dorian clapped his hand over his mouth, so surprised he just said that out loud.

Varric looked like he might have an aneurysm, hand practically seizing to prevent himself from picking up the pencil.

“Alright, Sparkles!”

“If you write that down, I will burn you alive.”

“You’d have to read my books to find out.”

A stalemate. _Just watch what you say from here on out_.

“Moving on.” He waited to ensure Varric would let it drop. “I don’t think I can be with someone who follows a religion which says it’s okay to cage and use mages for whatever purpose they please. They are people, or qunari anyway, the same as the ones holding their chains.”

“Kind of like the slaves in Tevinter?”

Dorian did not appreciate the parallel, though he immediately saw it as apt.

“Do you love your country?” Varric asked.

“Yes, I do, I love Tevinter. But I won’t defend all of her practices. I can no longer fully condone the ownership of another person.”

“Do you think all slaves should be freed over night?”

“I don’t think we could free them all overnight. Can you imagine the chaos? It would have to be more gradual.”

“So what’s your plan then, for gradually freeing all the slaves in Tevinter?”

“I’m... honestly still working that out. But we should still be actively working towards reform.”

“Hey, no argument there. But, just to recap: it’s okay for you to love Tevinter, to disagree with some of her practices, but to not have a solid plan in place, because you are willing to say you disagree?”

“Yes.”

“But it is not okay for Bull to love the Qun, disagree with some of the tenants, to not engage in the practice of them. Because he didn’t go around saying so? Do you want him to say it to the Arishok? Being a pariah is your damage, doesn’t mean it has to be Bull’s, too.” 

“I’m not crazy about the aggressive proselytizing, either. Can I want to know he’s going to put the Inquisition ahead of the Qun? I’d like to know where The Bull ends and the Ben-Hassrath begins.”

“It sounds like you want him to promise to put you before the Qun. You can try to go tit for tat on everything, but he’s been raised with that shit since birth. You can’t just start pulling threads and hope you don’t unravel the whole sweater.”

Dorian tilted his head quizzically, did not follow. 

“You gotta understand, Sparkler, real life isn’t tidy. You can’t draw a neat line with a pen on parchment and divide up your life down the middle.”

“One could try.”

“Go on then. Which half of you is ‘Dorian’ and which half is ‘of House Pavus.’ Who’s eating the dates right now? Could be one or the other, could be both. Could be the dichotomy you're invented doesn't exist. Do you think your decision to leave home had an impact on your taste? For that matter, did you fall for Bull because, or in spite, of where you were born? How you were raised? Could you possibly begin to say?”

“If I spent a long enough time thinking it through, I could probably answer your questions.”

“People are not two dimensional. There is one whole, complete Dorian in front of me. One complete Varric in front of you. A fully actualized being with a complex identity.”

Bull had advised him similarly not so long ago.

“Besides, it’s not like he’s out there whacking apostates over the head with rocks. He’s not even pushing the Qun on anybody. Has he ever asked you to convert?"

No, in fact Dorian has asked Bull to teach him Qunlat, offered to listed to him talk about the Qun.

"When he puts you on a leash and you _don’t_ like it, then it’s a problem. But don’t make him poke holes in his religion, his identity, if it’s not necessary.”

Dorian did not respond, was probably still trying to figure out which half of him enjoyed the dates more to prove a point.

Varric leaned back in the chair. Obviously giving Dorian a word problem to solve was the wrong way to go about changing his mind. “You’re a betting man, right, Sparky?”

“I swear you find ways to make the name worse every time I talk to you. You already know that I am.”

“I want to make a bet with you, whether or not you and Tiny are still together once the Inquisition disbands. I bet a million sovereigns you are.”

If Varric bets they will be together, Dorian must bet they won’t. The intense, sudden realisation he could lose the bet (and he doesn’t have that kind of money to lose) makes him speak without thinking again.

“I’d be insane to take that bet.”

Varric smiles, leans forward to start writing again. It also means Dorian would rather have Bull than a million sovereigns, it didn’t even occur to him he could throw the hypothetical bet.

“Go pack your bag, Sparkles.”

Dorian stands to leave while the dwarf is still speaking.

“Love’s not easy, it’s not even typically pretty. For what it’s worth, I like you guys together. You’re a really _adorable_ couple. You could even say-”

“Don’t you dare, I will absolutely end you.”

“ _A-dori-bull_?”

Dorian stormed off, Varric’s laughter echoing in the Hall. Second time today he’d been mocked and it wasn't even lunchtime.

 

Krem is glad The Bull seems to be having relationship troubles. Not because he is vindictive or wants to see his commander suffer (he’s also pretty protective of Dorian, too, at this point) but because it distracts him from his own issues. He was up half the night in a staring contest with the bouquet Dorian made for Maryden.

“What have you done now, Chief?”

“Why do you assume it’s my fault?”

“Because you don’t think before you act. Not that I don’t appreciate you losing an eye for me. I give my thanks from the bottom of my still beating heart.”

“He thinks I’m planning on sewing his mouth shut.” Bull’s heart still feels heavy thinking about it.

“Is that some kind of sexual metaphor?”

Bull gives him a warning look.

“Alright… well, are you planning on sewing his mouth shut?”

“How can you even ask me that?”

Krem would find this lovers' quarrel funny, if the Chief didn’t look so incredibly saddened by it. He’s making a mental note to slip Varric some of the details on the sly for his novel. Between Sera, himself, and the dwarf, it was going to make mighty amusing reading.

“Why does he think you want to, then?”

“Because that is was the Qun says I should want to do.”

“Whoo, boy, I am out.” Krem holds his hands up and stands to leave the table. “I’m not about to get into a religious debate with a Ben-Hassrath.”

“I don’t need to debate religion. I want to know how to convince him I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Because you aren’t entirely stupid, I’ll work forward from a premise where you have already tried using those exact words.”

Bull nodded. It was one of the very first things he had ever promised the man. “Oh, but he thinks I’m two different people.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Hissrad and The Iron Bull. Or he thinks I’m lying if I’m Hissrad and there is no Bull. Or maybe Bull killed Hissrad.”

“You need to give me a minute to process whatever that was….. What could have given him that impression?”

“It’s something I sort of wonder myself. I don’t feel like I used to.”

“I think that’s just getting older, Chief.”

Krem though a moment more.

“Okay, I’ve processed it. Here’s my advice: Whoever I am talking to right now, do you think it’s okay to sew someone’s mouth shut?”

“I would say not usually, but I’m considering making an exception for you.”

“Perfect. I was sure you’d prefer Dorian’s mouth fully functional for all kinds of perverted acts too horrendous to recount before for my virgin ears. Just got tell him you, whoever the hell you are, don’t morally approve of sewing people’s lips together. Don’t bring up anything else.”

“I think that’s terrible advice.”

“You asked for it.”

 

Bull doesn’t feel like he should enter Dorian’s room while he isn’t there so he sits next to the tray of plates just outside it. Damn, he was just at the Rest, but forgot to take them back.

He doesn’t think it will work to phrase it the way Krem did, but he figures he might as well give it a shot. When Dorian comes down the hall, only slowing a bit when he sees the qunari sitting outside, Bull stands and clears his throat.

“I have something to say.”

The mage pauses before entering the room. He motions for Bull to follow with a tilt of the head.

“I, whoever the hell I am, do not morally approve of sewing people’s lips together. Unless they are into it, I guess, I’m not really one to judge.”

“Thank you, Bull. And I don’t think you should have to split yourself in half.”

“Thanks. Wait, what?”

“There’s likely a better way to phrase that.” Dorian appears pensive. “I respect you are a three-dimensional being.”

“You, too?”

“I actually have to leave for a little bit, can we talk while I pack?”

Dorian pats the bed, indicates Bull should sit. He strokes his moustache, thinks about what he’d like to say.

“I don’t think you are really two different people. I understand what it’s like to hold conflicting viewpoints, some of them ingrained since birth. It was unfair of me to suggest you might have some dormant, dishonest part of your personality just waiting to pop up and take advantage of me. I am sorry. I know there is only The Iron Bull.”

Bull wonders how useful it would be to say he’s not half as sure as Dorian is about that.

“Kostrathari or whatever he wants to call himself can stuff himself. I really don’t know how I got it into my head you were keeping something from me.”

_You probably overheard us talking while you were sleeping and your subconscious only partially filtered it out. I was too ashamed of myself to stick up for you because I didn’t think you were listening._

_I didn’t tell you he used to be Arvaarad. Wouldn’t that have been a valid piece of information to give you before tying you up and telling him to fuck you?_

_I didn’t even tell him our watchword or about the coin. Shit, what was I thinking?_

_Krem was right, this was absolutely my fault.  
_

Should he be saying these things aloud?

“I don’t know quite how to say this next bit, so I’ll just blather on through it. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy myself last night, we both definitely got caught up in the heat of the moment. But, I don’t think I’m in a place to do something like that again soon. It’s a strain on our trust, an awful lot of power over us to give away to someone else. I’m sorry, but... can we not do that again for a while?”

_You’re apologizing to me?_

_I let a perfect stranger into your room because I thought I remembered him from 20 years ago. I don’t even remember myself from 20 years ago. I walked him right to your door and told him when you’d be in._

_Because I thought ‘it could be fun?’_

_You are supposed to be safe with me. I could have gotten you killed or so much worse._

If he spoke what he was thinking, how furious would Dorian be? Would he realise he really couldn’t trust The Bull after all? Demand he leave and never speak to him again?

“Of course! Just you and me for a good long while, kadan. I’m okay with that.”

Dorian looked relieved, but Bull felt sick. It wasn’t for The Bull to decide what information was relevant to the man.

Was he silent for Dorian’s sake or his own? Right now the mage seemed happy, oblivious, going through his bottles and jars and putting them into his bag.

 _A lie by omission is still a lie._ He really was still Hissrad after all. _  
_

“Thank you, amatus. I really do have to be going now. I’m sorry we can’t talk longer.”

“Don't worry about it. I’ll see you in a few days.”

 

Dorian left, but did not ask Bull to vacate his room. It still felt like a violation, the qunari shouldn’t be allowed in the space unaccompanied.

Bull returned to the ramparts and tried meditating again.

He was too close to see it, but the cruelest lie he had told that day was to himself. He had acted foolishly, but had done so out of an overwhelming desire to make Dorian happy, to make the mage like him.

If he had spoken with Dorian about Kost, the man would have been livid, called Bull every synonym for ‘stupid’ in multiple languages. Then, feeling bad, he would have apologized and admitted he would have probably gone through with their little adventure anyway if he had known. The Besrathari was a far better liar than even Hissrad ever was.

Neither of them had a template for a real relationship and were learning by trial and error. Bull would not have forgiven himself right away, but Dorian certainly would have.

 

Bull committed their time apart to fasting and meditating. He had yet to fully read over the alliance requirements and wanted a clear head when he finally got around to it.

He passed most of most nights asking himself hypothetical questions, seeing if he would answer as Bull or Hissrad.

_Are those not under the Qun less worthy than those under It?_

No way, Bull thinks. Qunari are not inherently better than elves, dwarves, or humans, regardless of their faith. Actions speak louder than beliefs.

_Should you obey the orders of the Ariqun?_

Hissrad fields that one. Absolutely, and without question.

_Is it that the Qun has flaws? Or are some people too flawed to accept It in Its entirety?_

The Qun is flawless. When It does not work for someone, it is more on them, but maybe it is not just to force It on those who are not ready to accept. With study and careful indoctrination, perhaps everyone could come to recognise their place with minimal upset.

Both of him seem to agree on this point. 

_What role does doubt play in re-affirming my faith?_

Neither one has an answer.

 

For once, Dorian is having more fun than The Bull. Delightfully, Sera decided to join in on their hunter-gathering. Listening to her and Varric banter is restorative for his soul.

They bond over their mutual love of dwarven women, Dorian is pleased his own relationship is not the one being dissected. It’s too trying to analyse their differences right now.

The Inquisitor seems pleased their little pod is getting along. There is no infighting, only joking and good-natured jibes.

There is only one major hiccough in the day and it’s easily overlooked.

“Why weren’t you in the Undercroft this morning?” The mage asks. “I really wanted to go over my options for further alterations with Dagna.”

“Give you one guess. First, what perfume would you say this is?” Sera holds out her hand, puts her fingers directly under Dorian’s nose, touching his moustache.

It doesn’t smell like perfume, more like iron. It is familiar, but the man can’t quite place it.

“Varric’d know better than you.” The elf says, smirking, holding her hand out to the dwarf.

Varric laughs as he recognizes the scent.

“You are both disgusting.” Dorian tells them, as it dawns on him, rubbing his face on his sleeve. Perhaps it is not so delightful to have her along after all.

“Ha-ha, now you’ve got girl on you!”

 

Bull had finally got the chance to read over the documents left for him by the Besrathari. The terms were agreeable, his only strictly defined role was to convince the Inquisitor to meet with another Ben-Hassrath agent on the Storm Coast, to ensure only a small group of warriors came along so they do not alert Venatori agents to their presence.

The reports detailed the number of cultists, the locations of red lyrium deposits, revealed a plot to ship the stuff back to Minrathous.  

There wasn’t anything on any of the pages about wanting the Inquisition to ally with them against Tevinter in the future, near or distant. It made the distinction between the nation and the rebel cult. Bull was thankful for small miracles.

All in all, it seemed well above board, a windfall for the inquisition.

Still, he brought the report to Leliana and asked her to verify its origin and validity. He wanted to be absolutely certain this wasn’t a trick, to be sure he was aiding both the Inquisition and his own people, neither at the expense of the other.

He withheld only one page, addressed to “Hissrad” and not “Ben-Hassrath.” It’s irrelevant to her investigation, anyway. It just reminded Bull he needed to get his priorities in order. Suggested a few details about the layout and defenses of Qarinus would be well received by his superiors.

Bull burns the letter.

The idea of more Ben-Hassrath, and actual Qunari foot soldiers and scouts, openly stalking the south seems wrong. They won’t be their for the purpose of conversion, but he worries about his friends, Krem and Dorian especially.

His two favourite ‘Vints are very mouthy, they love to back talk and make snickering comments about the Qun. He could ask them both to consider shutting up in the presence of other Qunari, but it’s a safe bet only one of them will listen to his advice.

It was Dorian’s propensity to say “make me” at inopportune times which frightened him the most. The dare could end with a barbequed beresaad or a flattened mage.

By the time the Inquisitor returns, he would like to have everything worked out. No complications, no way to screw anything up. He asks Cullen to have the Inquisitor meet with him after their return. 

It felt odd sleeping by himself in his own bed, getting up on time, finding a routine. When he sleeps with Dorian, they get up much later, drink too early in the day, don’t get as much done. When Dorian has a hard time understanding a sentence in a book he’s reading, he repeats it under his breath over and over until he’s worked out the meaning. It makes it difficult for Bull to write his reports.

He sort of hates writing his reports, it’s boring and tedious, so he can’t decide if the stillness is welcome or not. 

 

Dorian and Sera don’t like to sleep alone, they are used to their partners’ presence, so they lay facing each on one bed roll, playing a game they call “Just Truth.” They know they can’t trust themselves to play with the dare component; it gets way too out of hand way too quickly.

The barrier spell for bees not only makes them fireproof, but squash proof as well. They only let the one out, but it did some real damage to the Great Hall before it was captured. Cassandra reprimanded them for hours about their irresponsibility, she expected more common sense in Dorian, made them scrub up the scorch marks and hang the new tapestries.

The object of the game is to decide if one of their lovers' traits is a pro, a con, or sort of in between.

Dagna’s size?

“Hee hee, what would you think? Perfect height for you _know_ what.”

Sera grabs herself to indicate what she means.

It _was_ clear prior to the lewd gesture.

Bull’s Size?

A lust filled sigh.

“Don’t be a smart-arse, you know what I mean.”

“I’ll go with pro, then.”

Dagna’s work ethic?

“Well, she comes back smellin’ a bit like metal, which I like. But she’s too tired really get into the bump and grind some nights. Mostly shite, so it’s a con.”

The Bull’s horns?

“They are fantastic supports, but he can’t lay on his side. Not easily anyway. It would be nice to spoon once in awhile, I find it comforting, so I’ll say it’s a toss up.”

Sera thinks for a moment, Dorian debates telling her not to strain herself.

“Roll over!” The elf suddenly shouts, pushing him over onto his other side, so she can curl behind with her arms around him.

“I didn’t say I needed to be the little spoon.” He tells her.

“Bitches can’t be switches.”

“I think you mean beggars can’t be choosers?”

“Nah.”

 

The Qun passes no judgement on sex or sexual release.

Bull thought about masturbating a number of times, but stopped himself. Self mastery. Can’t he go a few days without jerking off? His unbridled lust for roast meat, cake, and mead was already gnawing away at his desire to fast, he wouldn’t lose control on two fronts.

Bathing in cold water helps. There is no mage around to help him heat it anyway, so he took advantage of the frigid water's effects.

He can’t bring himself to enter Dorian’s room for soap or shave lotions. The smell of flowers has worn off, only his own scent remains.

He was seeking a sense of peace, harmony, balance. What he was achieving was closer to emptiness. Much like the taut ache in his stomach which could be appeased as easily by rice as by sweets, his mind is starting to feel more like a receptacle for knowledge rather than worry.

It didn’t leave him wanting, exactly, but there was something missing still.

  


Dorian no longer makes apologies for his libido but isn’t the type to rub it in anyone’s face (unlike certain elves). He slips away from Sera, finds a tree by a pond he can lean against while eagerly stroking himself off.

A vindictive part of him wants to wipe his hand on the grass, leave a coat of dried semen, ask Sera what spices she thinks he’s put into her food while holding his fingers out to her.

This would, of course, require him to aggressively flaunt his sexuality in a way he isn’t quite as comfortable with as she is. He washes his hands thoroughly in the pond before returning to camp.

Varric is building a little wooden pyramid in the fire pit, the Inquisitor waves to him as he approaches.

The mage starts the fire with a few flicks of his fingers, puts some water on the boil for morning tea, sets to work chopping wild onions while Varric skins a hare.

“I think we’ve collected enough hide and meat to keep a large village clothed and fed for a month. No idea how the Requisition Officer is going to haul it all back.” Varric tosses the pelt aside. “Ready to head back?”

Dorian would have liked to find a few more big pieces of dawnstone, but already has more than he knows what to do with.

“Whenever the Inquisitor is.”

 

It was dark when the Inquisitor’s party returned to Skyhold, night only just fallen. Sera had asked for a piggy-back ride miles ago, and Dorian was exhausted from carrying her. It had to be a extraordinary workout for his glutes and calves, so he did not complain, but his hip was beginning to protest her weight. 

“Oof. Buy you a drink?” The man asked as she slid off his back.

“Buy each other drinks, twice as much to go around.”

He can’t argue with that logic.

Varric excused himself, had writing he’d like to get done before passing out. The Inquisitor follows in the direction of the Hall, their own room.

Bull watched them enter the Herald’s Rest from the ramparts. He was horny enough he would consider pounding one of the practice dummies (even knowing full well it might be full of flaming bees) but irrationally hoped Dorian would get hammered enough he’d have an excuse to avoid sleeping with the man.

_Get a hold of yourself._

_Let your kadan get a hold of you._

He was annoyed by his own joke, descended the stairs to enter the tavern.

In the Rest, Dorian and Sera were at the same table as The Chargers. It was rare to see the elf mingling with the mercenaries. She was on the mage’s lap, losing a game of thumb-war with Krem.

Bull did not speak as he took a seat next to Dorian, hoped he would say something first. The smaller man looked up at him, Bull was sure he saw his tired smile wane.

“I found you some lovely dawnstone specimens. They will probably get here in a few days.” No hint of suggestiveness in his voice. He did not call him ‘amatus.’

Dorian offered his glass to Bull. The rye had a sourer taste than the qunari remembered.

 

Sera hops off Dorian’s lap when it becomes apparent he is falling asleep. The mage does not ask Bull to follow, but doesn’t tell him not to.

They walk back to Dorian’s room in silence. The man is so tired, he only takes off his boots before getting under the covers. Bull waits to see if he’ll be asked to leave. When Dorian starts to snore, he joins him in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always get lost in chapter splits. Adding the first half of the next chapter here because it feels like it fits better.


	6. Bayesian Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian plays matchmaker, Bull tells the Inquisitor about the alliance.

Bull is so hard he he thinks he might black out. But, Dorian looks so peaceful sleeping next to him in the early morning light, he doesn’t want to be a jerk and wake him.

Could he have imagined Dorian’s reticence the night before? He had seemed fatigued, perhaps the Bull was trying to find something which wasn’t there. Would it be unfair to press him if he was still upset or confused?

He just smells so good! The man probably hasn’t had a proper bath in days, but Bull loves the unique, Dorian-smell. Not like pork as he teases, but like salt and musk, a hint of piquant tanginess... the taste is as intoxicating as the scent.

He finds a happy medium, presses his cock between Dorian’s thighs, he’ll let the mage decide if he’d like to be fucked. If he pulled away, Bull could find relief by his own hand.

Dorian smiles sleepily, pushes back on Bull’s length, rubbing it against himself through the cloth of his pants.

“Hmmmmm, morning, ‘matus.”

The Bull can work with that.

He tugs off Dorian's pants, leaves his silky underthings on, gently rolls the smaller man onto his stomach and lifts his hips so he can put a cushion beneath them to tilt his ass up. Dorian moans quietly into his pillow as a long, slick finger pushes aside the satin and glides into him, followed by another and another.

The little whimpers of pleasure are soft and sweet, but Bull wants louder vocalizations, wants his own ears to ring with Dorian’s screams of ecstasy.

Bull throws the quilt aside so he can pull down the other man’s panties, cross Dorian’s legs at the knee, hold them together with his massive thighs. They will both feel the stretch more if the mage can’t spread his legs. With a steadying breath, Bull pushes himself in completely with one quick, fluid motion.

He has to hold still for a moment, lean over Dorian and take his hands so the man can’t grind on him. Bull’s sack is so full right now, so painfully heavy, he could blow his load if Dorian managed one good thrust.

Dorian is awake now, looking at the qunari over his shoulder. The look is too foggy, too addled with desire and sleep. Bull pressed a chaste kiss over Dorian’s mole.

“Close your eyes, kadan.” He hopes it will be taken as command intended to heighten sensation.

When his eyes are shut, Dorian’s expression could be mistaken for one of intense concentration or focus. Bull doesn’t have to meet the glassy stare.

This position makes Dorian so snug, Bull has to pace himself. He starts off rocking back and forth, only an inch at a time. When Dorian is struggling to squirm, Bull relents and rolls his hips with more force. Orgasm is too close, he stops to breathe and slow himself down. The mage is writhing beneath him, desperate for greater friction.

Bull gives up on making himself last, redoubles his efforts to slam bodily into Dorian’s upturned ass. There’s the ecstatic shouting he’d been hoping for. He pulls out entirely before ramming all the way back in. He loves hearing his name screamed like that.

The tight heat spasms wildly around his thick cock, he can tell Dorian is right on the threshold. Bull feels like he should try to hold off for a few more seconds, but just can’t.

It is so overwhelming, he can feel his heart beating in his temples, his chest, and his dick as he pumps a week’s worth of come into Dorian. The pulsing of Bull’s cock, the stickiness already leaking out of him as the qunari continues to thrust, is enough make Dorian tumble over the edge, too.

Dorian is repeatedly whimpering The Bull’s name as he pulls out of the man. Large hands massage the firm brown cheeks, spread them wide. Dorian is still gaping, semen dribbling out of him. Bull actually feels lighter.

They lay together a while, fingers interlaced, until Bull sits up to contemplate the day ahead of him.

Rather than going back to bed, which was normally his custom, Dorian gets up to remove the rest of his clothes. He begins to empty his travel bag. He replaces all the jars he took from the wash stand. When he kneels to sort the bottom tray, Bull mentally traces the curve of his perfect ass.

Bull moves from the bed to sit sideways in the desk chair. Dorian turns back to face him, maybe about to say something, but stops when he sees Bull’s rapidly reviving erection.

“Come sit on me, kadan.” Bull rumbles, patting his thigh.

For all his well-toned muscles, Dorian thinks his legs might be made of gelatin.

Even though he cannot get hard again the mage lets his lover slam fuck him.

“Harder, please, harder! P-please!”

Bull bucks into him, biting along his neck, squeezing and kneading his ass. Dorian won’t come again this morning, already too overstimulated, but he sobs and opens wide to allow the plump grey prick to repeatedly strike his sweet spot.

“Tell me you love me.” Bull orders, it’s been too long and he needs to hear it.

“I love you, amatus, I love you. Ohhh, I love- ah-a!” Dorian avows his ardour, nearly incoherent, clinging to Bull as if his life depends on him.

Bull buries himself as deeply as he can into Dorian’s yielding flesh and comes again. He holds the smaller man tightly, rubs his lower back and shoulders as the muscles twitch and shiver.

“I must smell terrible.” Dorian mumbles against Bull’s chest when they’re both back at ground level.

“Let me see.” Bull pulls Dorian’s arms over his head, sticks his nose directly into the fuzziness of his underarm before taking a comically deep whiff. “Smell pretty good to me.”

Dorian laughs in disbelief before pulling away to bathe.

 

Maybe he should have told Dorian before the Inquisitor, but what's done now is done.

They listen to his request to meet with a Ben-Hassrath contact at the Storm Coast and only ask minimal questions before assenting.

They can wait a day or two before they head out. They understand if Bull wants Dorian to come along, the two have been apart for a week and might enjoy travelling together.

Bull thanks them for their consideration, will not say he’s not sure Dorian will want to tag along.

 

Dorian was on his way to the library when he spotted Josephine. She was sitting at the well, tossing petals down it. Blackwall stood not too far away, brushing the horses and speaking with Master Dennet.

This was not a place she could usually be found. Dorian altered his course to approach her, curious.

“Lady Montilyet!” He called out to her. She dropped her flower, startled, at his approach.

“Lord Pavus.” He did so adore her accent.

“We don’t usually find our esteemed diplomat so far from the Hall. What can we thank for the pleasure?”

She caught his glance, tossed in the direction of the beardy Warden. Blackwall turned so his back was to them.

“I wanted to take the fresh air. I have been told some of the rarest blooms take root here and not in the gardens.”

“It’s all the horse manure.” Dorian hid his smile when she stopped halfway towards reaching for the rose she had dropped.

“But, if you’d like to see something truly splendid?” She nodded she did. “I find the daisies which grow by the wall are so much more impressive. Common, some would say, but they are hardy. The grow in a dense blanket regardless of the climate; stand stalwart in the face of rain, sleet, and snow.”

Dorian knew he was speaking loudly enough for Blackwall to over-hear, could see how Josephine averted her gaze.

“The stem in particular,” he continued, “robust and so very thick! You might not think it, but they chain together, one nestled into the root of another, for an lasting garland. Sturdy as they are, they weigh nothing when caught in your hair.”

“You don’t say?” She was breathless.

“Come!” He held his hand out for hers. “Let me show you! I must say, though, you hair looks divine today. I’ve a mind to start growing mine out, too. You’ve got to show me how you achieve such impeccable braids. Yours is too lovely to take down, but perhaps we could find an unwilling volunteer to assist in a demonstration?”

 

The mage was sitting in the grass with Blackwall and Josephine, the three appeared to be making flower crowns.

When The Bull approached, they greeted him and re-arranged themselves so he could sit in their circle.

The Grey Warden’s beard had tiny white buds braided into it.

“I'm not the one who started this.” Blackwall grumbled, as if awaiting Bull’s judgment. He doesn't complain when the diplomat places a wreath on his head, her hands lingering longer than necessary.

“My fault, I'm afraid.” Dorian offers. “Lady Josephine and I needed a practice dummy.”

Blackwall grunted at being called a dummy, crossed his arms, but didn't stand to leave.

“Don’t you think I would look stunning in braids?” The mage continued.

Bull could get behind the idea of Dorian having long hair. It would mean more to hold onto when throat-fucking the man.

Josephine’s cheeks were pink, her pupils a bit too large. Bull wondered if his kadan was playing at matchmaker.

When The Bull was seated, Dorian raised up on his knees to wind a garland around his horns.

The four of them continued making flower chains until Josephine announced she needed to attend to some correspondence.

The Warden watched her go, not exactly frowning.

“Women do love flowers.” Dorian told him with a saucy grin.

“What would you know about women?” Blackwall responded, more wistful than bitter.

He left soon after, still bedecked in daisies.

 

“Do you want to come with me to the Storm Coast?” Bull asked when they were alone.

“Ho... When?” Dorian looked a bit run down still. Being woken up before noon to be pummelled so roughly probably didn't help.

“In a day or so."

“Just the two of us? Not really a romantic getaway.”

“No, official business with the boss.” Bull doesn't want to lead right away with the facts of the mission. He steeled himself for an argument.

“The Qunari, my people, they want to make an alliance with the Inquisition. We would be going to meet some of my contacts on the Coast.”

“That's… unheard of, isn't it?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Was it your doing?” Dorian asked, he sounded almost proud.

“Not intentionally.” Bull was cautious. “I guess my reports had more of an impact than I intended them to.”

“Look at you! Big, important amatus!” The mage crept closer to him on hands and knees so he could straddle The Bull’s lap, pulled himself up on a broad horn.

Bull had really expected more questions, maybe annoyance he wasn't the first to know.

“So, do you want to come?”

“Absolutely! This sounds historically significant, momentous! I'd love to come with you.”

He is cheery, but Dorian often tried to give the appearance of cheerfulness when he was anything but. Unexpected pleasantry was nerve-wracking when it came from Dorian, Bull much preferred his insults or complaints. It felt weird employing his considerable Ben-Hassrath’s skills to peel back the layers of the more mercurial man’s emotions, he wanted Dorian to be open and honest with him from the start.

“Are we okay, are we solid?” Bull had his arms loosely around Dorian’s waist.

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because I’ve just told you we’re brokering an alliance with Tevinter’s sworn enemies. Does that make you think I’ve asked the Inquisitor to pick sides? Doesn’t it sound like I’m picking a side?”

“No?”

The response should have been posed as a statement.

“Dorian, please, be honest.”

The mage chewed his lip before relenting.

“I… this is hard for me, too, okay? I don’t like fighting with you. If Tevinter had offered an alliance, I would have pushed for the Inquisition to accept it. We didn’t, though, did we?

“Corypheus should have been our problem to correct. It breaks my heart my countrymen can just look blithely away. I’m trying not to be like that, I’m trying not to be a bad person, I swear I am. If we can get help to stop an unstoppable evil, we should take it, shouldn’t we?”

“I know how you feel about the Qun. If the Inquisitor accepts, they’ll be a lot more Qunari- _with_ a capital ‘Q’- running around. Does that bother you?”

“Worried I’ll leave you for someone else?” A poor attempt at jest. “It doesn’t really.” Said more earnestly.

The mage won’t meet his eyes, when Bull guides his face up with a rough hand, he can see Dorian is thinking.

“Kadan?”

“I know I say terrible things sometimes, Bull. I’ll know I do. If it makes you happy, I don’t actually have a problem with your dedication to the Qun. I know you well enough I trust your judgement. I didn’t mean to give you any other impression.

“Sometimes I’ll say something and it sounds like my father’s voice coming out of my own mouth. I’d never speak again if I thought it would prevent me from being so small-minded. It frightens me I could be be just as bad as him, or as bad as the Venatori. There is so much stuck in my head that doesn't belong to me- that I don’t want to own- I don’t even realise until I put it out into the world.

“I hate myself when I say something because he told me it’s what I was supposed to think. I hate myself because I should know better, I should do and be better.”

Bull can empathise with the struggle against ingrained dogma, the self-loathing which comes from turning away from the only truth you’ve ever known in the face of uncomfortable reality. He doesn’t want Dorian to hate himself. It’s okay to try and come up a little short as long as you try again.

Maybe he should take his own advice once in awhile.

“I’ve never meet him, but you’re probably not as bad as your father. And you’re definitely better than the Venatori. If it’s any consolation, you are certainly prettier than most Venatori I’ve come across, although they were corpses by the time I got a good look at them.”

Dorian stares at him, shakes his head with a laugh. The response was as preposterous as it was meaningful.

“Vishante kaffas, you’re an asshole.” Dorian says before kissing him.

 

They come back to Dorian’s room, the smaller man seems a bit demure when Bull undresses him, touches his body tenderly, strokes his manhood.

“A little sore, kadan?” Bull asks, fingering the twitching hole. The flesh is swollen, but Dorian spreads his legs and pants as he is toyed with.

“How’s deeper feel?”

The mage squeals in pleasure as Bull presses more fingers into him. The dark, slender legs are quivering, but he puts up no resistance as the qunari sinks four digits to the knuckle into him, drags them in and out of the man. If Bull was of a mind, he could probably get his whole fist into Dorian. Perhaps that would better be saved for another night.

“What do you need, Dorian?”

“You Bull, please, you!”

Bull is pleased with the enthusiasm, but wants to play with Dorian a bit more.

He wedges the complete fingers on his other hand into the mage as well, wiggles them freely.

“Ohhh!” Hot when Dorian makes noises he can’t control.

“Isn’t that nice?”

The smaller man is still slick inside with The Bull’s come from the morning. It makes fucking him easier than usual, almost sloppily so. Despite their release only hours ago, neither of them lasts long.

Dorian pretty quickly falls back asleep, Bull lets him nap. He’ll go meet with Krem again to go over their plans for visiting the Storm Coat.

“Bring me back ham.” Dorian mumbles sleepily from under the covers.

"Sure thing, kadan"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just porns,


	7. Zero Sum Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and the Chargers head to the coast.

The hike out to Storm Coast was frigid, the icy rain fell almost sideways.

Dorian’s frequent complaints about the weather managed to rise above the howling wind, clearly amusing to Krem, but grating on Cassandra’s nerves.

“Please, shut up.”

“Complaining makes me feel warmer.” Dorian told her.

“It’s all that hot air.”

Krem laughed at The Bull’s joke.

“Both of you, please.”

“You mean to tell me you aren’t cold?” Dorian sniffed, then shivered. “You are an Ice Queen, after all, so perhaps I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

“Aren’t you meant to be a Snow Faerie?”

Krem’s question didn’t recall the particular event to mind, but little, prickly trickles of shame ran down the mage’s neck and back (maybe just a particularly cold and insistent rain drop). It definitely sounded like something he’d profess, provided he’d had enough to drink.

They made their way quickly, stopping as infrequently as possible to camp and eat. The Bull was loathe to admit it, but he was insanely anxious. The quicker they could get to the rendezvous point, the quicker they could be done with the mission as a whole.

His joints ached with the effort and the cold, made him wonder if Dorian might not be bitching so loudly about the weather to keep from voicing pain in his hip. The Inquisitor would likely make them slow their pace if they thought someone was having trouble keeping up.

Then again, it could just be Dorian complaining about the weather as usual. Bull had once watched, trying not to laugh, as the mage tried smiling up at the rainclouds per Sera’s instruction. It had shifted to hail almost immediately, a large piece of ice falling directly into his eye. So suddenly, Bull suspected Ma’am might be somewhere on the ramparts having a little fun at his kadan’s expense.

And it was already so had to make Dorian try new things.

They managed to make it the rest of the way to the Hesserian fort with very little incident.

Bull had wondered on the long walk who the Ben-Hassrath contact could possibly be, was worried it might be Kost. It was a huge relief and welcome surprise when it turned out to be a little elf he knew from Seheron.

“Gatt!” The qunari shouted.

“Hissrad!”

They exchanged their pleasantries, Bull introduced his old friend to the Inquisitor who greeted him with warmth and civility. It had been so long since he’d seen the little fellow, it was wonderful to find him so composed, level-headed.

When he’d last spoken with him, Gatt had been all rage and confusion, impossible to reign in or soothe. His years under the Qun had been good to him.

 _This might actually work out_. Bull permitted himself to believe.

Until Gatt made a comment about the Imperium. Bull knew his kadan wouldn’t keep his mouth shut, but he really had hoped.

“Yes, filthy decadent brutes the lot of them. I’m certain life would be much better for all of us under the Qun.”

The Bull felt a flush of embarrassment at Dorian’s words. The mage’s dragon tooth was plainly visible, as was his own. How did that look to the other Qunari? Something wound tight around his heart, squeezing behind his ribs uncomfortably.

_Keep it together._

Dorian wasn’t brandishing his staff or cursing Gatt out in Tevene, but he was being extremely petulant, to put it mildly.

“It was for me.” A testament to the fact, the elf did not match Dorian’s temper with his reply.

He understood Dorian’s reticence to be silent when he felt personally attacked, but arguing with a former child slave who was there to offer an alliance, perhaps make the first steps towards peace... Gatt had been through unspeakable horrors at so young an age, he didn’t need snark or condescension from an ill-informed Altus.

“This isn’t the time or the place, Dorian.” The Inquisitor spoke Bull’s mind. “The Qunari and the Imperium both have their problems.”

“Huh! Fair enough, I suppose.” Dorian did not sound like he found the statement particularly fair.

It was mean of him, but Bull half-wished the Inquisitor would come down a little harder Tevinter, on Dorian, make it clear their purpose on the Coast was to forge an alliance with the nation which had actually offered one.

“I’m not here to convert anyone.” Gatt patiently explained. “I only want to ensure red lyrium doesn't make it’s way to Minrathous.”

“We can agree on the importance of that."

_Not so hard to play nice, is it, kadan?_

“Tell us what we can do to help.” As always the Inquisitor was the voice of reason.

 

They listened as Gatt explained what needed to be done, advised them they needed to take out Venatori sentinels and reach the shore so they could signal the dreadnought. In order to protect the warship, they would need to secure and maintain at least two points.

The Inquisitor and their party could skirt further down the coast, the Chargers would cut directly across the forest to the sea.

Realising the group would be split seemed to make the Inquisitor uneasy, which had a rattling effect on Dorian. Bull mentally kicked himself for making the comment about dreadnought runs, _too many ways for crap to go wrong_.

The mage fretted over Krem like an upset mother hen, reminded him how Venatori might perceive one of the soporati class fighting alongside the Inquisition, made him swear up and down he would be extra cautious. The only way to settle the man was to accept a handful of offered amulets, pulled frantically from numerous pockets in his pack, more to go around than there were Chargers.

“We _are_ professional mercenaries.” Rocky grumbled, but took an amulet from Krem before passing on the others.

“Of course we are!” Krem was always proud when Bull trusted him to lead the Chargers on his own. Dorian simply hadn’t seen them in a real fight, his concern was sweet but unnecessary. “Plus, you and the Chief have our backs. Nothing to worry about.”  

They left camp with a rousing cry of ‘Horns Up!’

 

The Inquisitor lead Gatt and their party out soon after. They crept along in relative silence, only their boots squelching quietly in the mud.

Cassandra paused on an overhang, signalled with her hand to Bull. Below them there was a single Venatori scout.

“What’s the plan, then?” Gatt asked The Bull in a whisper.

“Can you get in low behind him? Hit him on the head with a stick?”

Another scout joined the first.

“New plan, you go in low from one end, hit him on the head with a stick, then Cassandra can go in from the other side and hit _that_ guy with a stick-”

“And then I am going to hit you with my stick.” Dorian muttered, wringing his staff in annoyance.

“Dirty, kadan!”

“Enough!” Cassandra hissed. “We can slide down over there.” She indicated the gentle slope a dozen yards away.  “If we avoid making too much noise, we can take them out them before they know we are there. We move on-”

Bull fell backwards, shouted in terror. The glittering flash of light could have been a lightening bolt, called down on his head.

Dorian and the Inquisitor looked down at him in absolute surprise, the mage’s hand still outstretched. Bull realised too late the light he had seen was a barrier spell being cast on them by their own mage. He really only got a moment to feel sheepish, before Venatori agents came down upon them like the rain.

 

“Bull, I feel as though I don’t tell you this often enough,” Dorian is speaking in dulcet tones, between ragged huffs, but Bull could guess what was coming, “you are an _idiot_.”

They were all a bit worse for the ware, having finally fought their way to the cliff overlooking the sea.

The last cultist had just slid off the Seeker’s blade when Bull announced they were clear for Gatt to light the flare and signal the dreadnought. The great qunari swelled with honor and pride, his Charger’s had already arrived and lit their own signal.

He had not, as Gatt suggested, given them the easier job, just the slightly closer target. If he hadn’t opened his big, stupid mouth to alert the Venatori to their precise location, it was the Inquisitor’s party which might have finished first.  

It only takes a few minutes for the dreadnought to surface, to pull up to the shore. The Inquisitor, Cassandra, and Dorian are all surprised at the sheer size of the ship, though only the mage announces his astonishment so clearly.

“It's massive!” Dorian exclaimed.

Bull contemplated making a joke to his kadan about the motion of the ocean, but lost his breath as watches the dreadnought fire her cannon.

“Nice one!”

 _And a piece of cake_. Bull grinned as he watched the smuggling ship go down, the lyrium burning away along with the smugglers. He could faintly hear the Chargers cheering from across the bay.

They are about to head down to the beach and regroup when it happens.

Half a dozen Venatori mages drift silent as wraiths from the woods and advance on the dreadnought.

How many more could be hiding in the trees? Even a cursory glance down tells Bull there is no way he will survive a straight jump down to the sand. There isn’t enough time to go back the way they came.

His Chargers resume their battle stances. He tells himself he is too far away to have heard Krem shout “horns up!”

The tight sensation in his chest coils tighter.

“They still have time, if you signal them now.” The Inquisitor tells him, voice thinner than usual.

This is true. They don’t have much time, but they could still get away.

“Your men need to hold that position, Bull.”

Impossibly, this is also true. There are dozens of qunari soldiers in the dreadnought. If he sounds the retreat, they are all doomed.

Cassandra’s face is impassive, as if she senses the immensity of the dilemma unfolding before him.

Dorian’s expression is entirely readable.

_If you don’t blow the horn, I will take it from you and I will._

Bull isn’t sure he would have the fortitude to wrestle his kadan for it. His fingers curl around the horn. Gatt looks at him in utter disgust, unable to fathom Hissrad making such a choice.

“You’d be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth.”

It is almost like his heart won’t beat, like a thin cord is wrapping around it constricting the blood flow.

“They’re _my_ men.” The words carry great weight for Bull, it is clear they don’t have the same meaning to the elf.

“You need to do what it right, Hissrad. For the alliance. For the Qun.”

What is right? Bull remembers holding Dorian that one night, feeling guilty for smelling sweet like flowers, for his indulgences, his transgressions against the Qun.

_I, whoever the hell I am, do not morally approve…_

He knows the right answer, but can’t bring himself to say it out loud. The thin cord crushing his heart is the only thing binding him together. He can’t bring himself to cut it or everything will fall apart.

He is frightened, so he turns to the Inquisitor for their order. They look far out to sea, past the sinking smuggling ship and the dreadnought.

“Save your men.” They tell him. “Call the retreat.”

The cord snaps. He blows the horn.

 

Back in Skyhold, they celebrated their victory with sack mead. The Chargers broke into raucous song and ribald verse. Bull looked like his old, pleasant self, but Dorian could say for certain the qunari’s torn and busted knuckles did not come from the fight on the Coast. The injuries only appeared after arriving back home.

One of the practice dummies had been replaced overnight, likely to prevent anyone from seeing it smashed to pieces, bloodied.

Did _they_ know Bull had hesitated?

The word for what Dorian felt was not anger. It was closer to sorrow, but he tried to make himself consider the situation impartially so he would not say something regrettable. He drank slowly, not sure he could maintain objectivity with too much wine.

More than anything, he wanted to believe The Bull was still okay, that they were still okay, were still “solid” as they agreed they had been before leaving for the Coast.

In such a short space of time, could they have drifted so far apart, disagreed on something so fundamentally crucial?  

He had quite honestly considered yanking the horn from Bull. They were probably far enough away, Krem wouldn’t see who had blown it. Then the mage could have hurled it into the sea to prevent them from being recalled.

If he had been banished from the Inquisition for such an act, he would have lived proudly in exile the rest of his days. Being a pariah was always such an alluring notion.

That Bull had asked the Inquisitor their opinion before blowing the horn? Baffling and distressing. Bull should not have waited. He should have immediately sounded the retreat.

If in that terrible minute when he hesitated, he had considered not blowing the horn? Had considered abandoning his friends in the name of the Qun? That would be unforgivable.

It would have been devastating for Bull either way, Dorian repeated to himself, he’d never been asked to make such sacrifice and didn’t have perspective. Unless the mage was willing to rip apart time itself, there was no changing the past. Compassion and patience were needed in the present.

Dorian did try a few times to speak with him on the long trip home from the Storm Coast. Bull wasn’t harsh in turning down the offer to talk, merely insisted this needed to be on him, something he needed to bear alone, deal with his own way.

But this? This was excessive, even by their hedonistic standards.

It was nothing new to watch Bull out eat and drink everyone at the table- he was a very big man. This time it seemed like he had made it a personal mission to imbibe everything in the Skyhold larders and cellars. His jokes were fast becoming too lewd, too personal. His hands were too free under the table.

Bull’s obvious distress at losing the Qun couldn’t not have been more obvious if he were dancing on the table while weeping ‘look what a proud Tal-Vashoth I am now!’

The display was getting to be overwhelming, Dorian excused himself from the table politely. If Bull wanted to handle his problems by ignoring them, drinking himself into a coma, it really wasn’t Dorian’s place to pass judgement. His amatus had carried him home when he blacked out too many times to count.

No matter the vexation caused by Bull’s pause, in the end it _had_ been The Bull who blew the horn. He could be forgiven for his desperate need to lose himself for one night after doing the right thing, as difficult as it was.

Anyway, Dorian could do with another bath. He had felt grosser, grimier, dirtier than he usually did after a trip to the Coast. Usually the rain did wonders to keep the filth at bay. Now, he still felt weighted by the salt, his skin itchy and dry all over.

He would wash, re-dress and and try to get a little reading done. Bull could suffer his burden alone for one night if it was what he truly wanted.

 

Krem wasn’t stupid, not even a little bit.

When the Chargers met back up with the Inquisitor’s party, Dorian hugged him _very_ tightly for someone he’d seen only hours ago.

“I was just worried about you.” Dorian told him, but his voice wavered.

A look at Bull, he understood right away.

Yes, Krem was fond of his Chief. But first and foremost, Bull was his commanding officer. He trusted them to get the job done- whatever the cost.

It was only a fool who woke up in the morning, strapped a sword to his side, and never considered the possibility he might die that day.

He was a soldier, the Chargers were soldiers. The decision to hold the hill, if it had been made, would have been a calculated risk, a loss offered up for a greater gain. Krem was very glad to still be alive, but he couldn’t say he would have taken it personally had the Chief not blown the horn. It was an honour to serve under The Iron Bull.

Krem would have gone down fighting, horns up, for Bull- Inquisition and Qun both be damned.

This wasn’t something easy to explain to someone like Dorian, someone who was not a soldier. The relationship between them was one of friendship, not of commander and lieutenant. The mage had never served in a military unit, wouldn’t have a context for the idea of militaristic sacrifice.

Dorian was clearly processing Bull’s behaviour, then each of the Charger’s in turn, scanning their faces for signs the Chief had let them down. He was confused, that much was obvious, maybe a little hurt, but not actually angry. It was only fair to let him make up his own mind.

So Krem watched him leave, clearly uncomfortable with The Bull’s behaviour, by then sliding from rowdy to down-right debauched. He had noticed the Chief drunkenly pawing at him under the table.

Krem let him go without offering an explanation. If Dorian needed one, he could (and very likely would) ask.  

 

The party was winding down, but the Bull showed no signs of stopping.

“Where’D’orian go?”

When Bull slurred the question, Krem decided it would be best if Dorian had some time alone to mull over matters.

“I think he went to bed hours ago, Chief. I’d let him be if I were you.”

“Okay, then.” Bull folded over the table, trailed off before passing out across it.

 

Cabot poked him awake, told him he didn’t have to go home, but he couldn’t stay there.

Bull tried unsuccessfully a few times to stand, wasn’t sure he was up to the task. He’d drunk enough to outrun the memories of the Storm Coast, but as his stupor ebbed and flowed, they were catching up with him.

_Tal-Vasoth._

He wasn’t Hissrad any more, he wasn’t Ben-Hassrath, he wasn’t even Qunari. He was only Bull.

He knew what blowing the horn meant, Gatt had told him in no uncertain terms. Should the realisation still create such a yawning emptiness in him?

Could he have held still, watched the Chargers torn to pieces by the Venatori? Should he have? His decision had cost many lives already, and the alliance. How many more deaths would come as the result of losing his contacts, his connections?

Would there be further fallout beyond the inevitable, courtesy attempt on his own life?

Red was good, but she did not have as extensive, as entrenched a network as the Ben-Hassrath.

He should have tried talking more with Dorian when the invitation was extended, and he had tried, but it was too difficult. His kadan looked almost through him, like he did not recognize the man before him.

"But Krem is your _friend_." Dorian, visibly pained when he said it.

"Krem is a mercenary." Bull wished he hadn’t sounded so resolute.

He used the tables and chairs to stagger out of the Rest, unable to support himself.

“Something solid to hold onto.” He mumbled to himself, trying to stay upright and make it across the yard.

Dorian was something solid, something real and fixed in Bull’s mind.

He has lost so much already, he cannot lose anything else.

If he could get to the man, take a hold of him, maybe he could stop the rudderless spinning.

 

Dorian did not look amused to find Bull pounding on his door in the middle of the night.

“Kadan!” He was partially aware he was too heavy for Dorian to support, feeling the smaller man strain beneath him and grunt in annoyance as he tried to drag Bull to the chair.

“You are too heavy.” The mage huffed, giving up his attempts and letting Bull slip to the floor.

“I don’t know what to do, Dorian. What am I supposed to do?”

“Given your present state? I’d recommend going to bed.”

“Wanna go to bed, huh?” It sounded like a directive he could follow.

“That’s not what I meant.” The mage grumbled, pulling the large hands off his ass.

“Give me a kiss.” Bull tried to pull Dorian down to him using his robes.

“You’re breath is beyond words to describe. I think I’ll pass for now. Come on, get up. I can’t carry you.”

The Bull cannot make out Dorian’s facial expression, in fact, he can’t make out either of them; Dorian seemed to have sprouted an extra head, they oscillate back and forth.

“I’m dizzy.” Bull says.

“Hn, I'll bet you are. Get up.” The man repeats, trying valiantly to lift the qunari by the arm.

Between the two of them, they manage to get Bull back up mostly to his feet.

“I’m confused. Just need something solid.” Bull tells him by way of explanation, tries to steal a kiss.

“Uhg.” Dorian turns his face, Bull’s breath really is quite awful.

His tongue, through, thick and coated from alcohol is much worse. Bull licks the side of his face, his ears, trying to capture his mouth.

“So help me...” Dorian does not finish his threat, it’s wasted on Bull in this state, renews his efforts to lead the drunk qunari to the bed. “If we could just not do this right now.”

They trip over a boot, thankfully they fall on the soft bed and not on the floor. Dorian only gets the wind knocked out of him when Bull lands bodily on top of him, doesn’t crack his head open on the stone.

"Would you terribly mind?" Dorian is trying not to lose his patience, unable to shove the dead weight off. It's getting harder to breathe.

In his inebriated state, Bull only feels the familiar body wriggling beneath him on the sheets. It doesn’t occur to him he’s crushing Dorian against the mattress, tries again to press their lips together again.

Still struggling for breath, Dorian curses him.

“Get off. You’re squishing me, you big bastard.”

He yelps in surprise when Bull grabs him roughly through his pants, ripping the belt holding them up to get inside.

“You’re hurting me.” Dorian ground out. It is not quite painful yet, but Bull’s elbow is digging into his bicep and right now he isn’t in the mood to be manhandled.

It does hurt when Bull tries to get a dry finger into him. Dorian isn’t sure the context is right for saying it, but he can’t think of another way to make Bull stop.

Shy of setting him on fire or electrocuting him, anyway. The mage’s patience hadn’t quite been tested enough for that, though he's rapidly approaching his boiling point.

“Katoh, you idiot, _katoh._ ”

It seems to cut through the mead fueled haze, Bull immediately lets go and sits up, falls backwards off the bed with a heavy thud.

“‘M sorry, kadan, ‘m sorry.” Bull’s apologies were muffled by his arm. “Please, just tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

Dorian watches him from the bed. The Bull might be saying "tama" under his breath and something Dorian doesn't know the translation for.

He isn’t a tamassran, doesn’t have a maternal bone in his body, so he isn’t sure how to answer. Even if he had a response, the qunari is way too drunk to heed any sort of complex advice. 

After the Coast, the infuriatingly silent journey home, this is too much to deal with immediately. He pulls off his belt, realising it is beyond salvation, tosses it in the waste bin.  

There wouldn’t be any moving The Bull that night; Dorian doesn’t fancy leaving the room to ask someone help him leverage the big man up off the floor.

He’ll have to settle for throwing a quilt over the drunken qunari and hope Bull sleeps off the worst of it before his presence on the rug becomes an inconvenience.

“Just... go to sleep.” The instruction is not given unkindly.


	8. Perfect Information Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and Dorian muddle through a reconciliation.

“I don’t think I want to talk to you right now.”

Dorian had given no other information to Bull when he awoke with a pounding headache, a tidal wave of guilt washing over him. It hadn’t been said with any bitterness, he only sounded tired.

The scratching of the nib on parchment filled the silence in the room, echoed thunderously in Bull’s ears.

As Bull let himself out, he cast a glance over his shoulder only to see Dorian was not watching him go, the mage was still sitting at his desk with a quill in hand.

“I’m so lost without the Qun. I can’t lose you, too.”

He did not look up from his writing, did not respond or give indication he had even heard.

Bull staggered through the too bright light of the morning, little snippets of the previous night drifted back to him.

Had he hurt Dorian? He thought he could remember the man saying he had. He could hear his kadan’s voice in his mind, saying “katoh.” It was maddening he couldn’t recall much after arriving at the Rest.

Maybe he deserved to lose Dorian.  

 

For the most part, Dorian was more irked than irate about the previous evening.

He did not think Bull needed the Qun, but Bull clearly didn’t share his opinion. Was it Dorian’s  place to tell him otherwise? The great oaf had sort of made it his responsibility by barging into his room, demanding to be told what to do.

A sickening amount of power to have thrust upon oneself unexpectedly.

Bull clung to the belief he needed the Qun, even after everything it had tried to demand of him, rob him of. 

He clung intensely enough to pull… whatever that little stunt had been last night. Perhaps it was not possible to convince him otherwise.

For the lesser part, he was scared witless over last night. The help Bull required was possibly beyond his capacity to give.  

Of course, Dorian _wanted_ to help, but he didn’t have a clue what to say. Bull wanted to be told how to live. How he had been living up to this point had seemed to be working just fine, but evidently that wasn’t the case.

If Dorian couldn’t give him a satisfying response? If Bull never managed to come up with one on his own...?

Fending off aggressive, drunken qunari was not his idea of a fun time. If it was all the same to both parties involved, he would just as soon not repeat the previous evening's little melodrama.

So he sat in his dark room until it brightened with the early morning light, ornately inscribing all the swear words he knew (in roughly alphabetical order) until the qunari came to.

It would have been satisfying to snap at him. To insist he replace the belt he’d ruined. To turn the exchange into an argument. Dorian was more comfortable trading insults than talking through (shudder to think) feelings. From the corner of his eye, he could see Bull was giving him a look like a kicked puppy.

He didn’t know what else to say so he didn't look up from his task again. He was just finishing up ‘venhedis’ by the time his door shut with the Bull on the other side.

His fingers were cramping, so he put a few last swirls around the word and set the quill back in its stand with a heavy sigh.   

 

Bull went back to his room, sat on the edge of his bed. He tried to lay down, but the room tilted precariously. Sitting back up, his head felt like dwarves were mining in it.

He left his room and stood outside the Rest for a few minutes. There was no way he could stomach the smell of liquor right now, let alone another drink.

Next he waited for a while in the grass by the row of training dummies. He hoped Krem would show up, so he wouldn’t have to sit alone, but his lieutenant did not stop by. It was early yet, the Charger was likely sleeping off a little liquid celebration of his own.

Even though he knew Dorian would not be there, Bull went to sit quietly in the library because it reminded him of the man, reminded him their first night together.

How disastrous had that night been? He’d permanently spank-banked the memory of Dorian with his leggings around his ankles, lips and thighs parted, but the rest of the evening...

The Bull had misread too many signs from the start, made promises he evidently hadn’t been able to keep, lied to Dorian and to himself.   

It had been both stupid and irresponsible to think he could have made a meaningful relationship with Dorian work.

Already up and alert, Solas nodded to Bull as he passed, the big man waved back as he wound his way up the steps to the second floor.

It smelled like old books, like ink, like smoke, like his kadan.

Bull went to Dorian’s desk. The mage hadn’t been by in a while, but it was left tidy, papers and books stacked neatly. One little paperback didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the ancient tomes.

He pulled it out from the pile, saw it was the trashy romance novella he’d left on Dorian’s desk almost a year ago. The edges of first half of the pages were darker than the second, as if worn by constant thumbing.

The colouring ended close to the dog-eared page he had folded himself. Bull couldn’t help but chuckle, even though it made him immeasurably sad.

He stayed in in the library for hours, even though it was painful.

 

Dorian hadn’t been able to convince himself to leave the room to get something to eat. He was famished, but did not think he could stand to face one of the Chargers or Bull if he ran into them.

Luckily, Sera popped round to his room in the evening, carrying a basket he suspected contained food.

“You ducked out on me last night. Didn’t even peep upstairs for a ‘hi.’” She was pouting.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got a few things on my mind.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got a half-gist from last night. Never seen your big ox so full-on glazed, like a jelly doughnut, wasn't he? Still, he’ll probably be more fun now he’s less Ben-Hassy.”

“Yes, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the free time he used to dedicate to his reports.”

When she doesn’t get the excited response she’d been hoping for, the elf is smart enough to drop it, to not bring up the qunari again.

“Dagna’s workin’ all night again.” Sera puffs out her lips and sticks out her tongue. “Bored as shite, thought you might like to go on a late-night picnic.” She holds up the basket. “I wanna try to get up on the tower roof. In?”

Dorian grabs his coat and follows her out into the starry night.

The don’t manage to get up onto the roof of the tower. Dorian tells Sera it is not worth a broken neck when she slips for the third time. They settle on the stone walkway above the healer’s tents, far enough away to be respectful of those needing rest.

Sera pulls back the napkin covering the basket. Thank the Maker, she has two bottles of wine in addition to bread and cheese.

They drink in silence for a while. Sera has neglected to bring cutlery, but they are dear enough it doesn’t matter. Passing the bottle back and forth, ripping the bread with their hands, biting the cheese from wedge, they whittle away the night.

Sera walks with him back to his room, leaves the basket of leftovers with Dorian.

“Don’t be all strangery.” She tells him during their goodnight hug. “Come see me and Dagna this week, we’ll put a stocking on the door knob so you know whether or not to knock.” 

 

Sera walks back to her own room, wondering if she should have pressed for more information. She doesn’t like when Dorian, prim and stuck-up as he could be, seems blue. He’s not one of the nobles who needs taking down a peg, he’s closer to Red Jenny stuff than any other lord or lady she’s ever met.

If anything, he’s the sort of person who could do with being bumped up a peg or more.

She sees Bull when she enters the first floor of the Herald’s Rest. The big, fluffy qunari is generally a positive influence on her funny friend, even if he could be the cause of the grief this time.

The big lug looks pretty bummed out, too. She could go over and hound him, but decides she might try that ‘savoir-faire’ thingy Dorian is always coaching her on.

“Hey, Bull! Just been to see your little curly-que.” Sera sits across from him, pours herself a glass from the bottle beside his massive hand.

He waits for her next words. They could be, if I ever see you around him again, I’ll shoot out your good eye with an arrow, but they aren’t.

“So you're free now or something? Must be nice to get rid of those Ben-Harseholes.”

The Bull stares at her for too long a while.

“You mean getting exiled from my people and declared Tal-Vashoth? Yeah, I should make a cake.” He never did get Dorian to bake him a cake, Bull thinks as he pours himself a glass as well, lets the whiskey overflow the rim.

“You like drinking and singing and breaking beds. You'd already left.” She points with a tiny, pale finger at his cup then at the plate piled high with bones and rinds.

“The Qun keeps our savage natures in check. Without it, if I lose control…” He wishes more than anything he could remember what happened last night.

“Pfft!” The elf sticks out her tongue. “Heard that before. Don't worry. If you get growly, I'll kick your arse.”

Bull wants to asks her to kick him now, has being doing it to himself all day and is running out of steam. Can he be honest enough with her to ask after Dorian?

She had said “if” he got growly, did that imply he hadn't been so last night?

Her bright, pale eyes beam up at him. Sera is smiling pleasantly, no trace of antagonism, nothing to suggest Dorian was not okay when she left him. 

“Thank you.” Is all he can manage to tell her.

 

“Hey , Chief.” Krem hadn’t seen Bull at practice this early in a long while, was more used to seeing him once the sun had passed its zenith.

“Krem! Want to join me?”

“Sure thing.”

They spar good naturedly for a few hours. The Bull doesn’t offer Krem an apology and Krem doesn’t feel the need to ask for one.

Bull doesn’t take advantage of his lieutenant when he leaves himself open:

_I’m really glad I didn’t get you killed._

Krem doesn’t pull his next swing, knocks the big qunari over:

_No worries, Chief, just glad to be here._

When they break for food, Bull promptly begins drinking. Krem doesn’t think it’s his place to tell him to take it easy, but Dorian’s absence the previous day _and_ today is conspicuous. It might be worth discussing the night of their celebration, but maybe The Bull should be the one to bring it up.

He doesn’t, only stays in the Rest until the late evening, shooting the shit and drinking until Cabot kicks them both out. Bull lumbers off in the direction of his own room.

 

Dorian doesn’t notice another whole day has passed. Solas has lent him enough fascinating books he could devote his attention to them for years and it wouldn’t feel like he was sitting in solitude.

He has the energy to read, to take notes, to scribble out a few glyphs. He doesn’t have the energy to leave his room. He doesn’t yet have the energy to confront Bull head-on.  

He’d like to further sort his emotions, get a better handle on what’s causing the knot in his stomach, the tightness in his chest.

It’s too much to hope Sera will stop by again, her widdle doesn’t often leave her alone two nights in a row. The bread and cheese, neglected until that moment, have gone a little stale. He drinks enough of the wine so they taste a bit fresher.

He saves the other half of the bottle, in case he doesn’t feel like leaving his room again tomorrow. He could go a few days without food when he had a good book, often did during his days in the Circles back home. But brooding darkly alone in his room without wine? Perish the very thought.

Dorian doesn’t pick his books back up after eating. He lays down on the bed, on the blankets Bull helped him pick out, watching the _hideous_ yellow plaidweave curtains fluttering in the slight breeze.

The events at the Coast repay in his mind, the sorrow, fear and confusion on Bull’s face. The relief when the Inquisitor told him to blow the horn.

Maybe he’s been a dick, maybe he should have been more understanding. Maybe Bull should have left well enough alone.

He reaches for the half-empty bottle, decides he’d like to finish it tonight after all.

 

Bull is sitting on the ground by the row of dummies, waiting for Krem. There is a dark circle under his commander’s visible bloodshot eye.

The Charger has come to the conclusion he needs to intervene.

“Have you spoken to Dorian lately? I’ve haven’t really seen him since we got back.”

“I don’t think he wants to see me.” 

“Because of what happened at the Coast? Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No.” Bull’s response is immediate, anxious.

Krem sits in the grass next to the Chief.

“Did something else happen?”

“I…” Bull is puts his head in his hands. “I don’t know, I don’t remember.”

A disconcerting answer. Possibly alarming. Krem needs more information.

“Why don’t you go save us a seat in the Rest? I’ve got something I need to do real quick. Order some food, maybe just stick to tea or coffee in terms of drinks, though.”

 

He was nervous, he couldn’t remember visiting Dorian in his quarters if he wasn’t sure the Chief was there, too. He hadn’t fully planned out what he wanted to say, either. They were friends, though, weren’t they? It shouldn’t be weird to drop in and check on him.

Krem rapped on the door.

Dorian opened it, wearing a sleep shirt, wrapped in a quilt. His hair was uncombed, he might not have shaved in a few days. The Altus regarded him for a moment before motioning the soporati was permitted to enter.

“Did Bull send you?” Dorian asked, curling back up on the bed, made no pretense made at decorum.

“No, I didn’t tell him I was here either.”

“Do let me guess, you want us to kiss and makeup?”

“If you really are fighting right now. I think that was my initial thought, yeah. Ask you to forgive him for his sake or at least not to hate him for mine. But, shit, you look like hell.”

“Hmm. Thank you, Krem, I love you, too.”

“What I mean is,” Krem sat next to Dorian on the mattress, wanted to make sure he said what he really meant and conveyed it as real concern, “I don’t know all of the details of what’s going on between you guys. I wouldn’t try to convince you to do anything you didn’t want to. The only thing I know is you both seem crazy miserable right now and you usually seem pretty happy when you’re together.

“Maybe he broke something that can’t be fixed, either here or out at the Coast. It happens sometimes and it’s sad, but it’s okay. You can be angry if it makes you feel better about the situation. If it doesn’t, and if you can stand it someday, consider forgiving him for yourself. Whatever you decide, I’m not going to hold it against you. Bull _is_ a colossal ass.”

Dorian gave Krem’s words consideration, tried to pinpoint if he harboured any resentment towards The Bull for the other night or for being willing to sacrifice his friends. The source of frustration over both incidents felt like they were the same.

Bull had professed to be so lost without the Qun, but it seemed the truth was he had not lived within it for a long time. A convenient excuse or a convincing fiction? 

“I’m not _angry_ with him. There really isn’t anything to forgive.”

“Is that why you are hiding in your room? Doesn’t look like you’ve left since after we got back.”

Perhaps it was fair (generously fair, albeit) to ask Bull directly how much he believed his own claim.

“Has he been drinking today?”

“Nope, just slumped over a table in the corner of the Rest moping.” Krem profoundly hoped Bull wasn’t making a liar out of him.

“Help me find my boots then I’ll go have a talk with him.”

 

Bull nearly upset the table in his haste to stand, spilled his glass of water. He wasn’t sure Dorian would ever speak to him again, being asked to take a walk with the beautiful brown man felt like a miracle.

Dorian lead him to the ramparts outside of Cullen’s room. The Knight-Commander was out of Skyhold, wouldn’t be back for a while. It was a neutral place, where they would be not likely be disturbed.

The mage sat back against the stone, twisting his rings, not looking at The Bull. He was waiting for the Tal-Vashoth to speak first.

“I’m so sorry, Dorian.” They taste like the only words he should ever be allowed to utter again.

“What are you sorry for?” It’s not a verbal snare, an earnest inquiry.

“Existing.”

The soft laugh isn’t malicious, it makes Bull hopeful.

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Didn't I… did I hurt you the other night?”

“No, not really.”

Bull can’t bring himself to look further up and study Dorian’s face, eye still resting on the slender fingers fidgeting with the rings, to find out if he is telling the truth.

“Did I stop when you said ‘katoh?’”

“Of course you did.” Dorian sounds surprised Bull would even ask.

“I’m still sorry. I didn’t mean to lose control of myself like that, but without the Qun-”

“Oh, don’t go there. That is absolute shit." The flare of temper makes Bull wonder how long Dorian has wanted to say this. "You’ve been The Iron Bull as long as I’ve known you. Don’t hide behind Hissrad any longer, he no longer exists.”

“Yeah... You’re right. Hissrad died on the Storm Coast with a dozen other noble warriors.”

“Hissrad died in Seheron alongside Vasaad, if he ever existed. You want to practice castigating self-control? Drink weak tea and eat nothing but unleavened bread for the rest of your life? Do it. No one’s stopping you.”

“What am I supposed to do if I’m no longer Ben-Hassrath?

“Whatever you want. I am sorry, but I can’t tell you how to live your life. You don’t have to do it _by_ yourself, but that is something you need to figure out _for_ yourself. I can venture the suggestion, you’re pretty good at helping the Inquisition, you could probably see where that goes.”

“And once we defeat Corypheus? What then? I needed the Qun, I need the discipline.”

“Offense entirely intended, but when was the last time you ever practiced a single Qunari tenant? You drink too much, eat too much, gamble, and fuck dashing Tevinter Altuses. Also pretty sure I’ve seen you smoking with Grim on more than one occasion. You’re the worst Ben-Hassrath who ever walked in all of Thedas.”

“I don’t know what I have without the Qun.”

“You have a literal, fucking castle full of _things_. No thanks to your precious Qun, you have the Inquisitor, Cassandra, almost no thanks to you you still have the Chargers, you still have Krem. You still have me.”

Have. Not had. Bull did not think he deserved the present tense.

“I’ve never known The Iron Bull who needed the Qun. You’re confusing yourself and Hissrad again. ‘To call a thing by its name,’ isn’t that the saying? You’re The Bull, so why not just continue being The Bull? Hissard’s continued existence was his greatest illusion.”

“Kost was avaarad.” Bull says without meaning to, didn’t realise how heavily the thought still weighed on him, finally bringing himself to look Dorian directly in the face. Without the kohl lining his eyes, they were somehow more expressive.

“What’s that?” The mage blinks a few times, thrown by what he perceives as a sudden change in subject.

“The one holding the needle and thread.”

Dorian makes the connection but doesn’t appear near as furious as he should about Bull’s confession. He appears moderately amused.

“You should be more upset I kept that from you.”

“Says who?”

 _Says all common sense_.

“How dreadfully boring, please don’t tell me you were about to say common sense- everyone is always on me about having more of it. It’s so overrated. Common sense says this,” he sweeps his arm gracefully to indicate all of Skyhold, the Inquisition itself, “shouldn’t exist. Elves, dwarves, qunari, humans… from every imaginable nation and creed coming together, working together, building a better world together.”

Bull has always wanted to know how Dorian does that: if it’s magic, mind reading, or just an disturbingly uncanny ability to read certain people. It’s not the right time to ask.

“Are you going to leave me?” He says instead.

“Of course not. I’ve always known you were a hopeless idiot.”

It’s Bull’s turn to laugh a little.

“So… you still love me?”

Dorian looks peeved, like Bull has asked him if the grass below them is green, if geese fly south for the winter.

“You’re not going to make me say it are you? Fine. Yes. I do."

“Why?” Bull really wanted to ask ‘how could you possibly?’

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Because you’re a good person, you make me want to be a better man. Because you’re strong. Not just physically, but in every respect of the word. You use your strength to take care of others, to help and protect people who need it, even when they can’t or won’t ask.”

“I almost didn’t protect my boys. How can I be a good person if I was willing to let them down?” The qunari says it to himself more than to his companion.

“I had given that a lot of thought.” His dark brows are drawn together pensively, remembering what Varric had told him about pulling threads. “I think… you knew the Inquisitor wouldn’t let them, or you, down. I think it would have been asking too much to force you to make that call. You can correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Sound about right. Not so strong of me after all, making someone else carry my burden.”

“It’s hard to ask for help. I’m glad you asked the Inquisitor. I’m sorry I wasn’t more willing to lend an ear or a shoulder. I was only too happy to leave home, but if I knew I could never go back...” 

Bull doesn’t think he had given Dorian much of choice in what kind of assistance the man could offer.

“We can always keep trying to figure out the details as we go along. As long as you apologise, I’ll always forgive you your mistakes.” The mage’s smirk suggests the sentiment is true even if it’s phrased as a joke.

“I don’t think you should. Forgive me, or love me, I mean. I don’t trust myself to keep you safe around me anymore.”

“Hmmm.” Dorian places a finger to his lips, though it’s obvious he is not giving the statement any serious thought. “Who says I need you to keep me safe? I’m pretty sure I can manage quite well on my own.”

The big man assesses his hands, massive and gnarled, covered in battle scars. He could crush Dorian to pieces with them if he wasn’t careful.

“I could really hurt you, Dorian. I don’t want you to give me that power.”

“And I could burn you to cinders with a word, amatus. Would you care to take me on?”

 

It was almost too soon, like Bull should have apologised a thousand more times before being let back into Dorian’s room, his bed, his body.

“Less thinking, more fucking, please.”

“I think that’s supposed to be my line.” Bull was glad Dorian was wearing a simple woolen shirt, easy to pull off, he didn’t want to fall back into the man’s bad graces by breaking a buckle or tearing a seam.

When they were naked, Dorian pushed Bull back onto the bed, back against the headboard, to straddle him. He was impatient as always, pulling out Bull’s fingers, so he could prepare himself more efficiently.

The moan of pleasure as the smaller man drove the qunari’s cock into himself was reassuring. A noise as familiar as his Charger’s cheering when he returned to the bar after a long absence. He might be later accused of being a sap (or a truly terrible poet), but pushing into Dorian, feeling how perfectly their bodies fit together, was like the best homecoming imaginable.

Bull held him as tightly as possible, let the smaller man drag himself up and down the long thick expanse of grey dick. Yes, as long as he could hold on to Dorian, he would probably be okay.

He could hear Dorian getting closer, his name whimpered with increasing frequency, urgency. The man’s eyes were shut tightly, brows knit together.

“Look at me, kadan, please look at me.”

Dorian met the gaze, his expression more focused, more present than usual when he was approaching climax, struggling to hold onto the present moment.

 _Perfect, wonderful, beautiful_.

Bull held him closer, letting his own hips move, thrusting up into the firm bronze body.

“Ah! Amatus!” Dorian buried his head into Bull’s broad chest, teetering on the edge.

“I love you, Dorian.” Bull panted, kissed Dorian’s hair, held his slim hips down, tried to find the spot deep inside the mage which would let him explode.

“I’m going- oh, please, amatus, I can’t, I’ll-”

He didn’t want Dorian to beg for it this time, wanted it to be freely given.

“Please come for me, kadan.”

With a keening cry, Dorian did, all his muscles tensing before going slack. Bull continued rocking up into him until he found his own release.

They didn’t move from the position right away, Bull softening but still too large to slip completely out unless he moved Dorian off him.

 

The Bull still felt as though he had gotten off easy, enough so he’d keep the joke to himself. On the way back to his room, Dorian continued to insist no more apologies were necessary, they were both doing their best, Bull needn’t feel the pressure to change completely overnight, it wasn’t something that would be asked of him again.

In the fuzzy, warm, post coital glow, Bull couldn’t shake the feeling he should make further amends. 

“Dorian?”

“Hmm?” He may have been lightly dozing.

“Are you sure… It’s just… I can’t help but feel I still owe you another apology or… I don’t know. I feel like I owe you _something_.”

Dorian quickly sat up in his lap.

“Now you’ve reminded me, you absolutely do.”

Bull looked down, a little surprised. Whatever it was, the sun, the moon, the stars, he was resolved to pay the price.

“Anything in the world, kadan. Just name it.”

“You owe me a new fucking belt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my. Poor little Chromebook is still in the shop.


	9. Mini-Epilogue: Playing for Keeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are those bells ringing?

They are still playing some romantic version of a coordination game, this time more aware of the other player's strategies so it is easier to take the steps together. Both of them share a common motive, they are absolutely in it to win it.

The pair have finally decided it’s time to share quarters. As they spend most of their time in Dorian’s room, it is the larger and more private of the two, it makes more sense Bull should be the one to move.

“My bed is far nicer, too. You couldn’t pay me to sleep on your tatty old mattress.” Dorian huffs as he helps Bull slide over the bookcase to make more space for another dresser. He has too many articles of clothing (and they are all indispensable) for Bull to share the bureau.

“I’m sure I’ve talked you into it at least once.” Bull grumbles under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Oh, just saying how yours is much softer. You’re absolutely right.”

Dorian gives him a bit of glare but lets it slide. 

Bull has far less possessions than Dorian, anyway, so he doesn’t have much complaint. The idea of sleeping next to his kadan every night and waking up next to him every morning makes any effort expended in moving completely worth it.

It only takes him a half a day to pack up everything he owns and move it across the yard. With Krem helping him move the heavier items (Bull did want to keep his large chair, his chest of weapon odds and ends) they have everything in place just after noon.

Krem turns down Dorian’s offer to buy him a thank you drink, wants to give them a little time alone in their newly minted domestic bubble.

“Almost like we’re married, isn’t it, kadan?”

“I’m already regretting this. I’ll think I’ll go move into your empty room.”

“I know! Let me carry you across the threshold!”

“We are already inside.”

“I’ll carry you out and then back in again.” Bull never was one to be deterred.

Dorian does not permit Bull to pick him up, but does allow the qunari to bend down for a kiss.

The pelts from Bull’s room piled on top of Dorian’s clearly superior mattress make for a divinely plush surface to fuck.

“You should wear more fur, Dorian.” Bull pants, he likes the way the downy strands on the fennec hide frame the smaller man’s face and neck.

“I think I’d be stealing something of Cullen’s style then, wouldn’t I?”

“I thought you liked the way he looked.”

In an humorously ill-advised attempt to make up for their first disastrous three-way, The Bull had asked the Commander if he’d be interested in joining them. Bull had verified Dorian was up to give the experience another shot, and that Cullen was his first choice, but wanted to ask the blonde on his own to spare Dorian the embarrassment if they were turned down.

Cullen had declined, stammering, crimson-faced, but ever-so-polite. It was hard not to laugh while explaining to Dorian why he was avoiding them again.

“Well, yes, but only because I’m fairly certain there actually is a handsome man under all that fluff.”   

“You wound me.”

“You know he doesn’t hold a candle to you, amatus. Now are we going to talk about other men or are we going to fuck?”

Bull doesn't tell Dorian it wasn’t him who brought the subject up, just pounds the smaller man into the soft furs, feels his body open up to him.

The hazy, unfocused look Dorian gets when he is close doesn’t upset The Bull anymore. He’s re-phrased his fetish in his mind, tells himself his kadan isn’t getting fucked stupid- The Bull is fucking away only the man’s most unbearable thoughts; chasing away the worry, sorrow, anger, and fear; leaving only love and bliss; helping him find a momentary safe space away from the rest of the world. Dorian can come back down whenever he wants to.

“Amatus, I’m going to come!” The whimpering is issued plaintively, asking for permission.

“You do whatever you need to, big guy.” Bull rumbles with a small laugh, but he means it.

 

The Bull and Dorian had finished christening their shared space and went to take a late lunch in the Herald’s Rest.

The woman at the table next to them was coddling a giggling baby. The child looked up in wonderment at the expanse of Bull’s horns, reached for them over his mother’s shoulder. She turned and smiled when she saw what the child was looking at.

“Do you want to hold him?” She asked, looked a bit grateful to finish her meal when Bull said he did very much want to.

The baby squealed with delight as he was held up to the objects of his fascination, gripped the tip of Bull’s horn and tugged.

Dorian was watching them, his own fascination more morbid than delighted. The frown which pulled at one corner of his mouth not quite matching the way his brows were arched together. Bull very much got along with children and they with him. Dorian… well, children were confusing to Dorian.

“Hey, he’s a strong little guy! What’s his name?”

“Oh?” His mother finished swallowing a bite of bread, answered The Bull. “His name is Drake.”

“That is… an amazing name." Bull grinned broadly at the baby.

 

“Don’t you kinda want one of those?” Bull asked wistfully into his cup once she was gone.

“ _Absolutely_ not.”

Bull chuckled at Dorian's sudden pallor.

“Why not? I think we'd do well with a kid.”

“Fantastic. One day living in domestic bliss and you've already gone baby crazy on me. Did you even see that poor woman's clothes? It's bad enough you use my undergarments as come rags, I’m not about to let some shrieking _thing_ use my best robes as shit rags, too.”

“Aw, you don't think we'd make good daddies? I think I'd be a kick ass tama.”

“Supposing I indulge in your absurdity for a single moment… where on earth would we even get one?”

“I don't know if you've been outside lately, but there's a bit of a war on, plenty of casualties. Sad, but probably lots of little ones in need of a safe home.”

“That's assuming I didn't drown it after it kept me up all night. Isn't the fact we are embroiled in battle with demonic forces a very good reason to avoid… what you're suggesting?”

“What about once we finish up our obligations here, to the Inquisitor? Have you thought about what'll happen with us after we give old Corypheus the beat down?”

Dorian looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Of course I have. I just… You aren't seriously asking me if I want a child, are you?”

“I don't know. Could be nice to start a family. What do you think?”

His kadan is no longer pale. In fact, he's fairly pink.

“Honestly?” Dorian pushed his food around with his fork. “I'd really rather you got a dog or something.”

“Really? We could get a dog?” It's not an imekari, but Bull’s heard of couples getting a puppy as practice for a child.

“If, and I mean only if _,_ we defeat Corypheus: fine. We’ll get married, move into cottage with a white picket fence, get matching fucking pajamas, and then I will buy you a damn dog. So long as you promise never to bring up babies again.”

Dorian says it like it’s the worst sequence of events imaginable. Sounds a bit like heaven to Bull. 

It’s probably the most he'll get out of the man, so Bull takes it.

 

The battle was exhausting, Corypheus flickering in and out of view, making it next to impossible to land consistent bows. Bull was glad for Dorian’s near constant barriers, thrown around them sometimes almost too late for comfort.

The Inquisitor holds out their hand, Corypheus is bathed in bright green light, before disappearing in a fairly anticlimactic puff of smoke.

Just like that, it’s over. They don’t have much time to gloat, however, they are nearly squished by failing chucks of architecture.

No one can quite believe Corypheus is gone, the massive hole in the sky is closed. Dorian is pleased as punch everyone seems to be more or less alive. 

Fighting the Red Lyrium dragon will probably give Bull wet dreams for the next decade, so he views the fight against the would-be god in an overall positive light, as well.

But the sadness in Dorian's eyes when he notices Solas is nowhere to be found, as he toes the shattered orb before slinking back to Bull’s side, mars the victory in Bull’s mind.

“He’ll be fine, don’t worry about it. Give him some time to be upset.” Bull puts his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders.

“What do we do now?” Cassandra’s words echo everyone’s thoughts.

“We go back to Skyhold.” The Inquisitor’s words inspire some measure of hope, they can begin to put the world back to rights now.

 

It is amazing to be home, to have survived an epic battle and to have become the very stuff of legends. When they make it to the tavern, Cabot pouring libations freely and looking a little inebriated himself, Dorian momentarily forgets about the missing elf.

Bull is pretty sure Dorian has also forgotten about their deal. He slips away from the drunken, singing, celebrating throng and out of the Rest.

The qunari is not surprised to see Dagna sitting outside enjoying the breeze, her face smeared with grease and sweat.

“Not into the party?” He asks though she plainly stands before him.

“Figured it’d be going all night. Just getting a little air before I head back in. What brings you out here?”

“Looking for you. I wanted to know if you could make me something.”

“Really? You two are bored of the last one already?” Dagna can’t imagine a more insatiable couple. They’ve just killed a god and they can only think of making new dildos.

“What? Oh! No, it’s something else. Some… jewelry.”

“Okay. What did you have in mind?” Curiosity piqued.

“I wanted to know if it’s possible to make two things… resonate with each other.”

Dagna is a bit perturbed.

“Not like that.” Bull hastens to clarify. “I mean a small token, like it would warm up or glow if the person holding one was thinking about the person holding the other.”

“Dorian might know better than I. Weren’t he and Solas looking into alternate methods of communicating without sending stones?”

“Yeah, see, I don’t really want to ask him about this just yet. I kinda want you to look into it without him.”

“What is it you’re wanting me to make?” She loves making toys, but isn’t sure she wants to make matching, glowing cock piercings. After seeing Dorian naked, she’d have way too complete a mental image of where it would go.

“I want you to make me a pair of rings.” Bull holds up a large hand.

“Oh my goodness.” The little dwarf knows what Bull is asking for.

“Yeah… so…”

“I can be discreet with my research. I think we could make what you’re looking for. You might need to choose materials with immense significance to strengthen the bond between them, though.”

Bull already had a design in mind.

They make an odd silhouette against the grass as they enter the Rest together.

Inside, Sera is sitting in Dorian’s lap, the mage already so drunk he stands and drops her to the ground when he sees Bull. Dagna helps her equally intoxicated elf back to her feet.

“Amatus!” Dorian doesn’t normally like to do the names in public, an indication he’s a bit far gone. “Can you carry me back?”

“Sure, kadan. Mind if we stay for just a little longer, though?”

It’s impressive Dorian manages to fall asleep against Bull’s arm given the sheer volume at which the Chargers are singing. Bull stays for a half dozen more rounds before collecting up his sleeping lover and taking him home.

He marvels at how much he loves Dorian- the snoring doesn’t bother him any more. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to sleep soundly without hearing it now.    

 

The Bull was sappy, but he wasn’t the most articulate romantic, wasn't quite sure how humans completed this particular mating ritual. He spent weeks trying to figure out how he should tackle the question. It had to be done correctly.

So Bull sought out and asked each of their friends for advice in turn.

Lady Josephine coached him on what he should say, wrote out a beautiful proposal and told him to memorise it. The language was eloquent and florid, the kind of language Dorian would go for.

“Make sure you practice reciting it, you don’t want to sound like you’re reading from the paper.”

His lieutenant told him to propose in the garden.

“Don’t do it in the library, don’t do it on the grounds, and- for fuck’s sake, I cannot stress this enough- don’t ask him here in the Rest. You want it to be special, don't you?”

“Oooh! But you’ve got to do it proper-like, get down on one knee, right?” Sera had added and Krem did not object.

The Warden had looked up from his carving. 

“ _That’s_ what you’re giving him, is it?” Blackwall seemed to disapprove of the bands, made of braided iron and bronze, Dorian’s set with a small piece of bloodstone, Bull’s with dawnstone.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Whatever, it’s your life, live it how you please.” 

Varric appraised the rings in the light of the fire. Offered a more comforting opinion.

“I think these are perfect, Tiny. Don’t get too wrapped up in what others tell you. You guys have been through a lot to get to this point, I’d trust your instincts over anyone else’s.”

 

Bull let himself remember Varric’s words on The Day.

“Wanna go for a walk in the gardens? Josephine said she had some roses and peonies planted, thought you might like to have a look at them.” He hoped he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

“Why do people keep assuming I like flowers? Yes, why not. Let me get dressed and we can skip down there holding hands.”

The Bull watched Dorian as he sat in front of the mirror, mixing his soot and castor oil. The man’s hair was still damp, fluffed from towel drying it, his moustache not yet waxed into its impeccable curl. His dark lips parted slightly as he lined his lower eyelid with a brush dipped the kohl paste.

He muttered something which sounded suspiciously like ‘dumb bastard’ under his breath.

Damn, he was absolutely beautiful. The most handsome and perfect man Bull had ever laid his eye upon. This was the man he wanted to marry, and fuck if he was going to wait another second before asking if they could spend the rest of their lives together.

“Hey, kadan?” Bull found the rings in his pocket, hooked a finger tip through the smaller of the two.

“Hmm?” Dorian, peeved, trying to finish lining one eye, looked over his shoulder at Bull.

“Do you remember what we said we’d do if we defeated Corypheus?”

He didn’t know why he asked anyone else’s opinion, he totally had this. He was still going to do the down on one knee thing, though. Sera was right, that shit was romantic as hell.

“Maker’s breath, Bull, I’m begging you, please don’t make me get a dog.” Dorian turned fully, looking distressed, but froze when Bull dropped down on his good knee, held up the ring in his large hands.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Kadan, I love you more than anything else in the world, counting both sides of the Veil, so I want to ask you something. You don’t seem too unhappy when I’m around or mind it too much when I stick it in you. If I had to pick one cock to suck for the rest of my days, it’d definitely be yours. I guess what I’m asking is… wanna put up with my shit for the rest of your natural life?”

“Fasta vass, Andraste’s fucking tits, Bull.” The man had placed his hand over his eyes, but was still peeking over his pinky at the ring. Bull could see a few tears trickling down his face. When Dorian tried to rub them away, he only managed to smudge the kohl around the one lid he had painted.

“That a yes?”

“Of course it is, you perfect ass.”

 

Krem, Sera, Dagna, Varric, Blackwall, and Josephine are waiting in the garden. They know Bull specifically asked them not to come, which is why they are crouching behind the rose bushes, trying to stay hidden.

“Betcha big dummy’s lost his nerve.” Sera whispers grumpily.

“Chief's pretty set on this. No way he backs down now.” Krem hushes her.

“I told Bull it’s got to be gold. You’ve seen all the baubles that little brat swathes himself in. No way he’s going to wear a hunk of iron along with those fancy trinkets.” Blackwall still can’t believe Bull’s terrible taste.

“He said something about the metals being significant, representative.” Dagna knows more than she would let on. She has made the couple dozens of toys at this point, but vividly recalls the bloodstone and dawnstone phalluses with matching runes.

“Perhaps he’s waiting for sunset. That would be so romantic.” Josephine practically swoons.

“I bet they’re screwing.” Varric casts a glance around to see who will take him up on the bet.

“Panting, gasping, pulling at the sheets.”

They all shout in surprise, some falling over when Cole speaks unexpectedly behind them.

“Do you remember our first time, kadan? Not as well as you, amatus. Small bits of metal, symbols of our love. Iron and bronze, the colour of our flesh. Twisted and wound together, melded like our bodies when we intertwine. Pink and red like your cheeks and lips, your flushed skin under my hands. I look foolish with just the one done. That's not what he's thinking. You’re always perfect to me.”

Everyone but Varric finds their shoes, the fresh tilled soil, quite interesting as the spirit relays the intimate exchange. That really wasn’t something they should have been privy to.

“He said yes, by the way.” Cole adds as an afterthought.

“Awwwww!” Dagna and Josephine squeak almost in unison, clasp hands.

“Ha! I told you so.” Krem is gloating, but might also be tearing up.

“Holy shite.” Sera is gobsmacked, wonders when she’ll have to propose now.

“You owe me fifty sovereigns, Hero.” Varric dusts off his knees and stands to leave.

“Well, I don’t have it on me.” Blackwall had not been expecting Dorian to say yes to an _iron_ ring.

“Where you going?” Krem asks as the hirsute dwarf walks away.

“I just got a happy ending for my book, I have to go write this down before I forget anything.” Varric smiles back at them.

“I’m done with all this nonsense.” Blackwall stands, too, offers Josephine assistance in rising.

“Do let me escort you back to the stables?” She takes his arm.

The Warden grunts his assent.  

“I’m sure I’ve got work to be doing.” Dagna gives Sera a kiss before she leaves as well.

“How long should we wait before we go bang on their door and congratulate them?” Krem looks to Sera, but Cole supplies the ideal response.

“They are finished now. But they don't want to see other people.”

The elf grins before breaking into a sprint, dragging Krem along behind her.

By the time they get to Bull and Dorian’s room, there is no one inside, only a note pinned to the door.

In Dorian’s elegant, ornate script with minor corrections made above it in Bull's blockier writing: 

_Sera (and also quite possibly Krem),_

_Thank you for your assistance and care. Large weddings are so tacky, aren't they? Decided to elope and ~~maybe~~ **absolutely** honeymoon. Be back ~~soon~~ **eventually**. _

_~~Please do be discrete~~ , we'd appreciate ~~not~~ everyone knowing by the time we get back.  _

_Yours, **but most each others,** _

_D **& B**_

"Well, that's total shite." Sera's shoulders slumped. “Maybe we can try to catch up to them?”

"Eh, let them have their fun. Come on, let's go back to the Rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I should start work on my next bit yet or backtrack to do a piece on Dorian dealing with familial problems.
> 
> Suggestions?

**Author's Note:**

> I have a terrible problem. I'll pick up a book to read and, even if it is dust dry, I can't stop reworking the sentences into those with sexual meaning.
> 
> Halp me, pls.


End file.
